Poor Ruth: for a father, a madman; for a husband—a thief! Spurlock rocked his body slightly. He drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights. Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately. You might get faint, but you can fight it. “Or I wouldn’t have said anything about it. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. "You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight.
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