"Your name is Spurlock?" "It is. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. " Spurlock grew limp in his chair. ‘Why, that’s it. We struggle against it at first, but in the end we have to submit. ” Lucy felt herself grow feverish inside. “I cannot say more.
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