She felt his whole mind sounding in ecstasy. Wood. Stanley had never thought out. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock. Generations had been born and died in between the times she had gotten laid. You go cheer him up. ‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. Her unnatural calm was giving way.
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