“I never dreamt!” she said. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. "Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. She had never seen so much food in her life as she saw at her own wedding feast. "He is all alone. You'll be wasting his time. I like high tone for a flourish and stars and ideas; but I want my things. Here was not the individual against whom she had been warned. When they were home, the pair headed for the Big Apple or the warmth of the Beck’s family table.
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