Presently she saw Spurlock on the way to the lagoon. Mentally but not physically competent. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. He must be gone to dispose of the body. You are the one person I can understand and feel—feel right with. “Lord!” she said. “But your hair,” he gasped. But when she turned her thoughts to Morningside Park she perceived the tangled skein of life was now to be further complicated by his romantic importunity. “All right so far,” she said to herself.
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