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He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. Her gratitude swelled within her. She acted as her mother had taught her to. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. He was almost frightening in silhouette, his hair uncontrollable under the best of circumstances, but that changed when you saw his face. "Is she married?" he asked, after a brief pause. My son wanted to marry a woman of thirty in a tobacconist’s shop. "So that was it? And what the devil are you doing here, moping alone on the beach? Why aren't you with her in this hour of bitterness?" "What can I do?" "You can go to her and take her in your arms. “You are going to treat me as though I wasn’t. You will find it somewhere in that book. Come back with me to-night. Wood will be here presently. . I felt his heart. Why do you look so sad?” She opened her eyes wider and stifled her emotions.
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