Poor Ruth: for a father, a madman; for a husband—a thief! Spurlock rocked his body slightly. But I've an old friend on the way here, and he knows the game down there. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. ‘You give me an excellent excuse to have in the Madeira,’ said his hostess, reaching for a silver hand bell and setting it pealing. Spurlock began to munch his water-chestnuts. “My husband and all his friends are fools, and the life they lead is impossible for me.
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