‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. Spurlock's vision was oddly of the past. I'd like to shake you until your bones rattled; but the bones of a Roundhead wouldn't rattle to any purpose. ***** Spurlock possessed that extraordinary condition of the mind which is called New England conscience. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl.
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