"No prize shall indushe me to enter dat horrid plashe again. I'm in a funk," Spurlock confessed. He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation. The veins in his throat and forehead swelled and blackened; his eyes protruded from their sockets, and stared wildly; a thick damp gathered on his brow: and blood gushed from his mouth, nostrils, and ears. But come in, dear. He continued to do this for the rest of the evening intermittently, in and out, among other topics. .
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