” Her elation teetered in mid-air for a second, then began to flutter down around her like a badly-built house of cards. " "Heaven help her!" sighed Jack. ” He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘That there governess didn’t like it, of course, me being the lodgekeeper’s girl, and Martha just a country wench like me. Spurlock had found the typewriter, oiled and cleaned it, and began to practise on it in the night. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. He seemed to have shrunken in his seat.
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