Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. She described the Goopes and the Fabians to him, and gave him a sketch of her landlady; and he talked in the most liberal and entertaining way of a modern young woman’s outlook. Once, when he thought he had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile. It was a haunted place. She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air. It’s true. “I’ll buy a new one. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. . . The garçon was tipped as he had never been tipped before in his life. Gerald studied the darkness beyond the aperture.
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