He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. But the world didn’t do that. Spurling. “I’m damned if I’ll believe it,” he muttered to himself savagely. He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees. He kept that, but the rest. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. He spent a good deal more money and time than he could afford upon the little room at the top of the house, in producing new lapidary apparatus and new microscopic accessories and in rubbing down slices of rock to a transparent thinness and mounting them in a beautiful and dignified manner. The blood temporarily halted to her brain, Michelle slept peacefully again. Martin proceeded to grab Lucy by the shoulders and air-kiss both of her cheeks teasingly. "Speak out—don't be alarmed," said Wood, in a kind and encouraging tone. Ann Veronica brought her luggage in a cab from the hotel; she tipped the hotel porter sixpence and overpaid the cabman eighteenpence, unpacked some of her books and possessions, and so made the room a little homelike, and then sat down in a by no means uncomfortable arm-chair before the fire.
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