She sensed he might try and wane on her doorstep. Spurlock had better stick to the bungalow. “Yes?” “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked about how a girl might get an independent living. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. " "I'll give you something better worth keeping," she answered, detaching the ornament from her neck, and presenting it to him; "this contains a lock of my hair, and may remind you sometimes of your little sister.
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