Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. He had a quick, shrewd, merry eye, and a look in which duplicity was agreeably veiled by good humour. “Has she ever thought of buying a pair of foam earplugs?” Lucy asked. Good-bye, aunt. “To Paris! But why? What do you hope to discover there?” “I do not know,” he answered, “but I am going to see David Courtlaw.
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