Spurlock slept on. “Veronique!” she cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and kissed her with profound emotion. He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. Marvel, who had been a little discomposed by the treatment he had experienced on Holborn Hill, very composedly filled and lighted his pipe.
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