CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. Spurlock bent his head to his knees. Oriental rugs adorned the sea of shiny hardwood floors, kept polished with an eye for detail that bordered on Japanese. The larger problem at hand was drugging her foster sister, Shari, into a deep sleep. She had become unashamed of her nudity, altogether unfocused on her appearance. But I never seen Mr Charvill, and when the Frenchie come out, I followed him again, like you told me. I do not admit the truth of a word which you have said. It’s wrong in the eyes of most people. "If I am the devil," observed Wild, "as some folks assert, and I myself am not unwilling to believe, you'll find that I differ from the generally-received notions of the arch-fiend, and faithfully execute the commands of those who confide their souls to my custody.
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