Spurlock plodded through the heavy sand, leaden in the heart and mind as well as in the feet. There’s a hansom coming round the corner. “That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. There was only one prisoner in the ward. He gave an order, the proa was floated and the sail run up.
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