Sir John stood upon the threshold. The next morning she went out with her post-office savings bank-book, and telegraphed for a warrant to draw out all the money she had in the world. ‘Stay, Saling!’ The butler halted, looking round enquiringly. I guess those books are okay because they are fiction. He filled the rôle of comrade which Spurlock dared not enact, at least not utterly as he would have liked.
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