James's built for offices of the meanest description. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. I will not trust you. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. He was content to talk about himself, though in the back of his clever mind he already suspected that she was not offering any details about her life. The doctor reached over and laid his hand upon Spurlock's heart.
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