Spurlock bent his head to his knees. “Ugh!” she said. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. They were his friends, and they recognized his unusual earnestness. “They died within a few months of one another. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. She started at the falling of a leaf, at the lumbering of a cow through the hedge.
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