CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. Beneath two tall elms, whose boughs completely overshadowed the roof, stood Mr. " "Piano-player? Do you mean someone who plays for you?" "No, no; one of those mechanical things you play with your feet. I too, Anna, have watched and read of your success with—I must confess it—some misgiving. ‘Of course not,’ snapped his friend.
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