" "But a man may love his wife!" cried Spurlock, utterly bewildered. She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. Aunt and niece regarded each other silently. ” He was a little uneasy. Dinner was served at 5:30. ’ ‘But where? Where has he gone? Always he goes off, and he says no word to anyone.
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