" "That fiend is ever in my path," exclaimed Mrs. ’ ‘All the way to England?’ She opened wide eyes. “He ran some Austrian fellow off. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. It’s these damned novels. 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. "These writer chaps are queer birds. ” “I am convinced of it,” she answered. ” “The truth,” she murmured, with her eyes fixed upon him. Pray, walk in. She seemed to be making some sort of inventory. ‘Very wise,’ he commented, slightly relaxing his arm. I’m sorry.
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