The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. Her place was not filled; she had been simply noted as absent, and she did a comforting day of admirable dissection upon the tortoise. "Thank you, sir," said Spurlock, holding out his hand. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. ‘So it was.
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