Spurling, (for she it was,) either by her attractions of purse or person, had succeeded in moving the stony heart of Mr. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. She admired his backside as he fetched a blue towel from his bathroom. Rich folks, once. Annabel entered. . It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping.
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