My garden-close would be a better thing than that. The detective backed out slowly and closed the door without sound. CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like,’ he repeated blankly. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance.
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