The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. Had he but known it, his outburst had done him no harm in the major’s eyes. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket.
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