Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. “They all catch on,” she said. “Let me hasten,” she said, “to reassure you. Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. " "Poor soul!" ejaculated her son. " As he said this, the carpenter patted the cheek of the little object of his benevolent professions, and, in so doing, unintentionally aroused him from his slumbers.
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