“Dear old daddy!” she said, and was amazed to find herself shedding tears. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. Spurlock knew that somewhere along the way he would write a story worth while. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. If he was asleep, then she much regretted that she must wake him up. The colouring was green and white, with softly shaded electric lights, an alcove bedstead, which was a miracle of daintiness, white furniture, and a long low dressing-table littered all over with a multitude of daintily fashioned toilet appliances.
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