Poor Ruth: for a father, a madman; for a husband—a thief! Spurlock rocked his body slightly. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. ” “And in Paris——” “In Paris,” he interrupted, “she was a very delightful companion, but beyond that —one did not take her seriously. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. “It’s like this,” he said, and dragged a stool beside her and sat down with his elbow four inches from hers and made a sketch. CHAPTER XXVII His idea, cleverly planned, was to shatter her resistance, to confound her suddenly by striking her mind with words which would rob her coherent thought. You know—I worship you. Dreams of adorable infants danced through her head as she cradled blankets in her arms.
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