God! I have cheated myself into a belief that the boy perished! And now my worst fears are realized —he lives!" "As yet," returned Jonathan, with fearful emphasis. Both Spurlock and McClintock stood by their chairs until she was gone. Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. For a time Spurlock did not move. Howard Spurlock. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian.
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