Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. "I'll see him fettered myself. Like the Castle, which it resembled in all respects except that it was destitute even of a barrack-bedstead, the Red Room was reserved for state-prisoners, and had not been occupied since the year 1716, when the jail, as has before been mentioned, was crowded by the Preston rebels. How easily an evil thought could penetrate a normally decent mind! All he had to do was to disclose Spurlock's destination, and in a few months Ruth would be free. “I think we are growing sensible,” he said. Wood, who were, furthermore, engaged in a little conjugal tête-à-tête of their own. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. “I don’t think you can have heard me, Vee,” he said, with intensely controlled fury.
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