2. It's right Nantz. Spurlock knew exactly what he was doing, however: speculative mischief, to see how she would act. I jumped then—I was not even shaken. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. She returned home to the Beck house soaked and soggy.
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