Her sister had told him that it was true. Presently she saw Spurlock on the way to the lagoon. Everything, Miss Miniver said, was “working up,” everything was “coming on”—the Higher Thought, the Simple Life, Socialism, Humanitarianism, it was all the same really. "I mean to have no one but yourself in it. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. For a time Spurlock did not move. In lieu of the substantial habitations which he had gazed on overnight, he beheld a row of falling scaffoldings, for such they seemed.
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