" Spurlock's glance shot up, flaming again. ’ ‘Get on, Hilary, do,’ begged Lucilla. If such a thing in connexion with him had been possible they would have declared that he was in a towering rage. Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. Behind every one of these myriad fronts she passed there must be a career or careers. He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself: habit, a twice-told tale.
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