Spurlock—for that's his real name—were married at high noon. ***** October. When the bell rang, she lagged behind as was her habit. I cannot do it, David. He began to talk again in quick undertones that she could not clearly hear. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. And, in addition, she was now seeing and talking to Ramage almost weekly, on a theory which she took very gravely, that they were exceptionally friends. However, it doesn't much signify. I've another reason for supposing he'll pay me a visit.
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