But what I do is based upon the fact that he is one of those individuals who are conscience-driven. And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write. I suppose you have come to see your granddaughter. What of that?" "Vot 'o that!" echoed Sharples, peevishly: "Everythin'. “It is a hateful story. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion. Martha said to me that it must come to the bibliothéque.
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