"No," answered Jack, approaching her, "though, if I had done so, he would have merited his fate. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. Spurlock lay with his head on his arms, asleep. She cocked her head. ” She gestured to an abandoned farmhouse down a long stretch of icy dirt road.
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