McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. There was a bare chance that he had been mistaken. It would hurt no one. ‘How could you? No wonder mademoiselle is angry with you. She did not want to seem to shrink from conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her mind. From midnight until morning he was now left alone. "You read it, Ruth.
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