On the morrow Spurlock (who was unaware that he had offered a prayer) let down the bars to his reserve. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. “I’m not coarse—no! But I’ve got no purity of mind—no real purity of mind. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. Now tell them why. He took his seat at the table, but leaned forward to address her.
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