Jonathan, however, paid no sort of attention to this demonstration of hatred. The pause lengthened, and he had the satisfaction of seeing despair melt the set mockery of Spurlock's mouth. Father and daughter regarded each other warily, each more than a little insecure with the other. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. “It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. "I know exactly what I have done," replied Spurlock.
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