“Thanks, Cathy. The spinsters had purchased one grass-linen tablecloth; the girl and the young man had purchased nothing. Without preamble, in a voice of extreme exasperation, he demanded, ‘Now what the devil’s to do? What in God’s name do you mean by sending Gerald such a ridiculous letter? Never read anything half as crazy. Lucy looked at her reflection with a measure of awe. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. To these she added the wine and spirits directed, and when all was arranged looked inquisitively at her master. In the midst of the holy place, which he had formerly profaned, lay the body of his unfortunate mother, and he could not help looking upon her untimely end as the retributive vengeance of Heaven for the crime he had committed.
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