. ’ She shuddered, throwing her hands over her face. ” She had spoken rather rapidly. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. Presently he reached out and laid his hand upon Spurlock's motionless shoulders. Do not mistake me. All the village was assembled in the churchyard.
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