167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. ’ ‘A pox on the creature,’ swore Mrs Sindlesham, clenching and unclenching her stiff fingers. Come along, you mad jade. These were yarns! As he was about to slip the manuscripts into the envelope, something caught his eye: by Howard Spurlock. It was his tall stance and his pale skin that drew him out of the crowd.
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