” She said. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. I'm in a funk," Spurlock confessed. works. The Law was around the corner and down the narrow hall, puffing a Virginia Slims Menthol in frantic sips, teetering uncomfortably out of an emergency exit door. You love money. Let your father—if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son. Howsomdever, if you should reach t'other side, take an old feller's advice, and don't be foolhardy enough to venter back again. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words.
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