Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. On the stranger's appearance, she was seated near the window busily occupied with her needle. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "a letter, beginning 'dearest Aliva,'—that's your mother's name, Thames.
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