” “How long had he been in the hospital?” Courtlaw asked. Only how had they missed him? Were they imbecile? Or perhaps the mists had concealed him from them. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. Strewn across the bed was a multitude of jumbled garments. There was all the knavery, and more than all the drollery of a Spanish picaroon in the laughing eyes of the English apprentice; and, with a little more warmth and sunniness of skin on the side of the latter, the resemblance between them would have been complete.
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