" He smiled at her as he smiled at death, cheerfully. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. Her mind went on generalizing. I should have gone mad without it. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay.
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