The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. “Well, I have said what I had to say, stumblingly and badly, and baldly. "Your name is Spurlock?" "It is. Dear God, what a beautiful moment!" The fire went out of Spurlock's eyes and the shadow of hopeless weariness fell upon him. ” Lucy said tenderly. It had not tasted good since 1350.
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