The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. The news that his granddaughter desired an audience Lord Charvill had greeted with merely a grunt, which turned into a roar as his gorge rose when he heard that she was accompanied by her husband. It was Blueskin. White men and natives dealt conveniently at Copeley's. His name was Peter. Her mind went on generalizing.
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