The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. She could not resist enduing persons she met with the noble attributes of the fictional characters. He sent me flowers. He's more like a lord than—" As she spoke, steps were heard approaching; the door was thrown open, and a young man marched boldly into the room. Nothing else matters. but then I made the mistake of testing it indoors. Mrs. Stanley,’ I said.
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