Spurlock knew that somewhere along the way he would write a story worth while. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. There was a coffee equipage on the table, and some sandwiches, and the fire had been recently made up. He shook his head all the time. You won't often see white folks. "Somebody ought to get hold of that young man," said Prudence, grimly, as she nodded in Spurlock's direction. There were moments when Ann Veronica rather more than suspected the chief speakers to be, as school-boys say, showing off at her.
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