Any one less courageous than himself would have abandoned the attempt from a conviction of its utter hopelessness; but, though it might for a moment damp his ardour, it could not deter him. Spurlock lay with his head on his arms, asleep. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. Why don’t you go in? Charvill is there. That turned her mind to the more generalized aspects of her perplexities again. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. \"Thanks for walking me home.
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