Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. "Ruth!" She had gone to the door, aimlessly, without purpose. A creature of convenience, she could have cared less if her children were carried away by drunkards on the street. When he faced Spurlock, the granite was cracked and rived; never had Spurlock seen such dumb agony in human eyes. And that brought them to vegetarianism and teetotalism, and the young man in the orange tie and Mrs.
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