He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. " "What's the matter, Ruth?" asked Spurlock, anxiously. She was listed for the raid—she was informed it was to be a raid upon the House of Commons, though no particulars were given her—and told to go alone to 14, Dexter Street, Westminster, and not to ask any policeman to direct her. And it filled seven sheets of notepaper, each written only on one side. His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. "Spare me!" he groaned, looking upwards. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back.
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