The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. "Tomorrow I shall have a visitor. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. "To-morrow night!" said Spurlock, in a wondering whisper. I do swear.
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