Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. He held in his hands many threads. “Do you happen to know whether she is supposed to be here?” “Very likely indeed,” Captain Fred Meddoes answered, lighting a cigarette. He hasn't found himself, as they say. She turned back into the hall. It was a charming sight to watch the motions of her tiny fingers as she pursued her task; and though the posture she adopted was not the most favourable that might have been chosen for the display of her sylphlike figure, there was something in her attitude, and the glow of her countenance, lighted up by the mellow radiance of the setting sun falling upon her through the panes of the little dormer-window, that seemed to the youth inexpressibly beautiful. She had even played in an opera by Verdi once, but had to dress as a boy to do it.
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