The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. "A missioner! That illuminates everything. He began to tell me something—and stopped. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. He's more like a lord than—" As she spoke, steps were heard approaching; the door was thrown open, and a young man marched boldly into the room. Did you warn Frith?’ ‘Yes. " That was true, thought Spurlock.
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