“I looked for you on the way home from The Big Apple, where were you?” Lucy smiled. One transgression; he was sure of that. Spurlock lay with his head on his arms, asleep. He subjected me there to great annoyance by claiming me as his wife. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. Her fingers rested upon his.
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