“I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. Wood obeyed. ” “You—you did what?” Anna exclaimed. It's a pity you wouldn't give me the prescription instead of the medicine, so I could have it filled nearer home. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. .
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