I don’t think I shall ever care for this bonnet again. ” He said. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. “You poor thing. " With these words, he strode out of the room, darted down the stone stairs, and, on his arrival at the Lodge, seized the rope of the great bell communicating with the interior of the prison, which he rang violently. ” He dabbed with his paper-weight again, and spoke in an entirely indifferent tone. “You must remember,” she said, “that you yourself are responsible for your altered looks.
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