Spurlock sat limply, his arms hanging. He came down the shop looking for her quite obviously, and took up a position on the other side against a mirror in which he was able to regard her steadfastly. Afterward, one afternoon, he hovered about her, and came and sat beside her and talked of beauty and the riddle of beauty for some time. Stanley was throughout enigmatical, with an anxious eye on her husband and Alice. CHAPTER XXIV. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities.
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