He had but to give his orders. There was a deep groan, and the sound of a fall within. "Thank you, sir," said Spurlock, holding out his hand. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. Spurlock had found the typewriter, oiled and cleaned it, and began to practise on it in the night.
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