Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation. Then the hotel manager struck his palms together sharply, and two Chinese "boys" came pattering in from the dining room. A rare moment of amusement lightened Melusine’s mood for a moment. “Mike, what’s going on?” She sat up, groggily rubbing her eyes. “He is addressing a meeting of his constituents somewhere,” Annabel answered. Only sat, staring at him, a puzzled look in her face. .
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