“Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write. "You poor child!" Prudence took Ruth's hands in her own. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. Over one of the pinnacles of the tower a speck of pallid light marked the position of the moon, then newly born and newly risen.
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