He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia. Opposite the gallows was an open gallery, or scaffolding, like the stand at a racecourse, which, on state occasions, was crowded with spectators. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. There was little more here than a sideboard, a chest for the vestments, and a simple wooden chair. ‘Flirting, Gerald? A new come-out for you.
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