Spurlock (himself verging upon the hysterical) welcomed the diversion. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. The asylum was approached by a broad gravel walk, leading through a garden edged on either side by a stone balustrade, and shaded by tufted trees. Michelle and Missy chatted vigorously in the front seat, oblivious to both the world and other cars on the road. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it.
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