He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. At first Spurlock tasted coconut in his eggs, in what meat he ate; it permeated everything, taste and smell. He was no match for Brendon. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. I will dedicate my books to you. ’ ‘Why must you?’ asked Gerald calmly.
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