CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. She wanted to scream, but there was no one to scream for. At the Diedermayer house, they were videotaped with the latest addition to the family, a Sony camcorder. She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone.
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