" "What kind?" "Dickens, Hugo. “It’s odd—I have no doubt in my mind that what we are doing is wrong,” he said. ‘We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. Presently he reached out and laid his hand upon Spurlock's motionless shoulders. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. And she found herself able to do nothing of the sort. "Because you did not wish to hurt me?" "Yes. He had hurt her.
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