A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. “There is no remedy, girls,” she began, breathlessly, “except the Vote. You sent back my Christmas checks. " Spurlock grew limp in his chair. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. And they could talk, they found; and never once, it seemed, did their meaning and intention hitch. "I can do without it," muttered Jack.
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