"My coat!" Ruth did not move but stared astonishedly at the patient. "Yes!" interrupted Spurlock, savagely. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service.
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