“That doesn’t touch the question I asked you,” she said. She felt much better. ‘Fiddle, Gerald. If you can tell me nothing I don’t already know, so be it. She had dreaded the beginning of this hour. Dim possibilities that she would not seem to look at even to herself gesticulated in the twilight background of her mind. Or mad, just as the captain had said so many times. Poor Ruth: for a father, a madman; for a husband—a thief! Spurlock rocked his body slightly. This was the first young man who had drawn from her something more than speculative interest. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster.
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