"So did I," answered Jack; "we had better move on. I am no exception. You will have a bungalow to yourself," continued McClintock, "and your morning meal will be your own affair. She kept opening her eyes and looking at it. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. Observing Spurlock's spellbound attitude, he clapped the boy on the shoulder. The bridge was open. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. " "I hadn't thought of that.
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