"It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. Spurlock relaxed, suddenly, and sank deeply into his pillows. “I want to be your friend,” he said. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him.
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