CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. She was strong, not unlike a pack mule or a camel; she thought to herself and smirked. “Why will you not be sensible? Go back to your old life and your old friends, and forget all about Paris and this absurd delusion of yours. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. "That's not an easy question to answer," rejoined Blueskin. " "Hurt her? It would tear her to pieces; God knows she has had enough.
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