Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. She liked to cook even though normal food was not nourishing to her. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos. " "Thieves!" exclaimed Mrs. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity.
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