Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. “You look more like your old self when you smile,” he remarked. She looked at the suitcase sadly and stashed it underneath her bed. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. ‘My dear boy, your loyalty is misplaced. Immediately behind this individual, came a pale, poverty-stricken woman, whose forlorn aspect contrasted strongly with his plump and comfortable physiognomy.
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