“We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. And the woollen-draper departed. Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. “You have succeeded a little too well in your personation,” she said bitterly, “to get rid very easily of Mr. "I haven't any answer for that; but I'm going back after her. "I think you're all bewitched," she cried.
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