Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. I wonder what it was. Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. Michelle seemed so innocent and sweet. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. This circumstance produced no further alteration in his demeanour except that he endeavoured to abstract himself from the surrounding scene, and bend his attention to the prayers which the ordinary was reciting. We shall have Mr. Wild himself if I met him," retorted Jack.
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