" "Ah," said Spurlock; "that kind of a man. ’ You used to declare that you hated the name. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. “When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn.
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