” She looked around the apartment again. ‘Me and the butler didn’t see eye to eye. Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers. Spurlock had found the typewriter, oiled and cleaned it, and began to practise on it in the night. She came to adore them. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. I found it on the beach, just sitting there nestled inside a piece of driftwood.
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