His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. When he faced Spurlock, the granite was cracked and rived; never had Spurlock seen such dumb agony in human eyes. Courtlaw stood up. Her father was distinctly irascible, and disposed more than ever to hide away among the petrological things—the study was turned out. “You’re self-taught, aren’t you, Lucy?” She looked around the table, all eyes upon her.
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