She dived at once behind the cover of the lamproom and affected serious trouble with her shoe-lace until he was out of the station, and then she followed slowly and with extreme discretion until the bifurcation of the Avenue from the field way insured her escape. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. “That beast of a fellow is certain to be hanging about. ” “Anna!” “It is true, dear. He seemed to stay away from her because she was so cold and formal towards him, addressing him as Mister McCloskey as if she were an Irish maid. I am afraid because I love you, so that the mere thought of failure hurts. . . ’ He clenched his fists and grew red in the face. ‘We’ll have you right out of the way, just in case.
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