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Mr. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. I tried to have it out with him, but he wouldn’t have it out. ” She glanced shyly at the mirror above her dressing-table, and then about her at the furniture, as though it might penetrate to the thoughts that peeped in her mind. Although Martha did not know it, she had her pistol and her daggers, and her knife.
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