“Do you want some of mine?” “Yes. "Restore it," he cried, in an authoritative voice. "Aye—to pretend to her that you don't care. The conceit of Howard Spurlock in imagining he knew what mental suffering was! But Enschede was right: Ruth must never know. Time after time he sent Spurlock into this corner or that; but always the boy regained his feet before the murderous boot could reach the mark. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly.
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