Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. It came with an extreme effect of re-discovery, a remarkable novelty. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. Giles's was lined with spectators. The chamber rang with her shrieks. Mr. Diane Vorsack clicked her tongue in a “tsk”.
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