Spurlock lay with his head on his arms, asleep. He talked in the same style, and pretty nearly in the same language; laughed in the same manner, and coughed, or sneezed at the same time. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. Wild's dwelling without apprehension, or quitted it without satisfaction. He sent me home.
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