The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. ’ She counted off on her fingers. ‘If you did not want me to talk of it,’ she told him with characteristic insouciance, ‘you should not have mentioned the matter to me. “Good luck! Good luck!” She waved from the window until the bend hid him. " Spurlock grew limp in his chair. " "I shouldn't call her queer. And not a worthy tome in sight.
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