Some indeed carried themselves, dressed themselves even, rather as foreign visitors from the land of “Looking Backward” and “News from Nowhere” than as the indigenous Londoners they were. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. ‘You’re either mad, or in love. “Like him who stood on Darien I view uncharted sea Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights Before my Queen and me. His face fell. ” “You do not understand me at all,” she declared. His little doll.
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