“How shall I put the question? What am I? What have I got to do with myself?. I meant to lie to you. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. That day Gerald had brought her to this excessively careful house, where she had felt very much alone and very unlike herself. Gradually McClintock shifted the burden to Spurlock's shoulders and retired among his books and music rolls. Suspicion was in his face. Poor Ruth: for a father, a madman; for a husband—a thief! Spurlock rocked his body slightly.
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