They found Ruth reading to Spurlock, whose shoulders and head were propped by pillows. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. Never was there another girl like this one. There was a shrill cry, instantly succeeded by a deep splash. Sir Rowland laid his hand upon his sword. ‘You usually do,’ he said lightly. You don't notice the heat; but it is always there, pressing down.
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