Rollo began to cavort. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Martha begged. Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. “Isn’t that rather a strange question—under the circumstances?” he asked quietly. She helped herself to the remainder of the slightly congealed bacon, and reverted to the problem of getting her luggage out of the house.
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