The evenings were dulcet and soft. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. "What's the matter, lad, after all the wonderful fireworks at lunch?" Spurlock beheld McClintock standing beside him. Spurlock was by nature orderly, despite his literary activities. Businesswomen in pointy-toed shoes swooned coyly in his direction, tipping their noses over their glossy magazines to admire 273 him.
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