Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. " The doctor gave Spurlock's hand a friendly pressure. He was full of fabulous stories, not just tales of his own past in Rome but wonderful fables from the mysterious Orient and the ancient Greeks, old jokes and yarns that only he remembered. Fresh flowers of loveliness have budded, expanded, died.
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