It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing. But she veiled her feelings. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal. Gradually McClintock shifted the burden to Spurlock's shoulders and retired among his books and music rolls. “Did I do something wrong?” He asked.
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