She whipped round suddenly, and discovered the woman wedged into the corner by the window, keeping out of the way. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. "A thousand dollars in British pounds!… A thousand dollars for four short stories!" The tan on Spurlock's face lightened. It—it is nothing,’ she said, although with a tremor in her voice.
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