Spurlock lay with his head on his arms, asleep. Lucy clutched the pencil in defeat. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. She did not bother with the backpack despite its due tomorrow status. ‘You wound me to the heart, Melusine. Her father’s step quickened to a trot. “An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money. Was he pleased?” “Calmly! He said—you won’t mind my telling you?” “Not a bit. "We have cured his obstinacy, you perceive," he added to Marvel. Would you like to borrow some of my clothes? I think we're about the same size. He entered the driver’s side, not inserting the keys in the ignition.
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