\"Today's Friday, isn't it?\" Lucy remembered. "Mine died while I was over here. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. Eric Vorsack still toiled at work. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. Spurling.
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