” He threw open the door of the sitting-room and switched on the electric light. We'll have some fun down there at my place, Spurlock; but we'll probably bore your wife to death. I don’t know that I understand altogether. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. The light of memory flashed in the man’s face. She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck. But Gerald kept to a casual note.
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