“I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. She was leaning over him and he smelled her like he had never smelled anyone before. Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. His expression altered. From a bi-secting street came shouting and music. Wood's astonishment and displeasure momentarily increased.
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