She was on the rim of civilization, entering, as Spurlock was on the rim, preparing to make his exit. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. Then the dagger’s point came in a whirling arc towards his face. So dreadful were these shouts as to produce an effect upon the hardened feelings of Jonathan, who shrank out of sight.
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