Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. “I have hurt my father,” she said; “I have hurt my aunt. '" "No, we can't stand that," hiccupped Smith, scarcely able to keep his legs. She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words. ‘He was our first commander, and a more stiff-necked—’ ‘Exactly so,’ concurred Lady Bicknacre.
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