"But you mustn't indulge these gloomy thoughts. Spurlock dove headlong at the other's legs, toppling the man. “Have you not heard?” she said. She thought of Capes. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. He dared not go on. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you.
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