Both carried packages of books and magazines. "I should call it putting him out of the way. Lights glimmered in the windows of the different houses; and a lamp-lighter was running from post to post on his way to Snow Hill. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky. Capes looked at one and not over one, spoke to one, treated one as a visible concrete fact. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words.
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