The rainstorm, short-lived, began to subside. On the morrow Spurlock (who was unaware that he had offered a prayer) let down the bars to his reserve. “So am I. A kind but hard looking female officer named Rose took her into a room and sat her down at a small wooden table. She had already realized that this instructress was hopelessly wrong and foggy—it is the test of the good comparative anatomist—upon the skull. Opposite to her was a sallow-visaged young man, whose small tie seemed like a smudge of obtusively shiny black across the front of a high close-drawn collar.
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