Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. Only in the sunshine; they would not answer my whistle on cloudy days. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. ” He complained, handing it, case and all, to Lucy. He seemed to be hesitating between two courses of action. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. Concealed among the trees that edged the estate grounds, the watchers paused. At any rate, here I am, and here I shall be, twenty thousand feet above all your poison-reeking cities, up where God’s wind comes fresh from heaven, very near indeed to the untrodden snows. Not part with him!" added he aloud.
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