Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. " "Write him," urged Spurlock, finding speech. At times he was brilliant and masterful, talked round and over every one, and would have been domineering if he had not been extraordinarily kindly; at times he was almost monosyllabic, and defeated Miss Garvice’s most skilful attempts to draw him out. I almost wish we hadn't come. She had a better voice than I, and the rest I suppose is only a trick.
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