Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. ” “Yes,” she said, and abruptly she liked him enormously. Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation. He was inclined to be a good-natured person, and he had no nervous fears of receiving a snub. Poor Ruth: for a father, a madman; for a husband—a thief! Spurlock rocked his body slightly. ‘I don’t think you need do that, Melusine—if I may call you so.
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