His smile faded. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth. Ruth and Spurlock separated, the one embarrassed, the other utterly dumfounded. "Fly, Captain—fly!" Aroused to a sense of the possibility of escape, Jack, who had viewed the deadly assault with savage satisfaction, burst from his captors and made for the door. And, if I'd my own way, I'd drown 'em all like a litter o' puppies.
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