He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. Melusine was loath to admit how much more lonely since Gerald chose not to visit her. Presently, two carriages dashed down the hill, and drew up before it. "It has been … rather a hard day, Hoddy," Ruth answered. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words.
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