Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. In the afternoon he probably loafs in his pajamas. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. “You will go and see her,” he begged.
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