Wild," implored the turnkeys. For a time they were very difficult. Lucia had never been so happy, so content. "An idea has just occurred to me," said Gay, "which Jack's narrative has suggested. Lucy entered the room. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. This was enough for the poor widow. " CHAPTER XI.
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