CHAPTER XIV Ruth lost the point entirely. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. She has been a dear. I would not have him know—now—for the world. Cut to pieces —slashed—bloodied. I cannot do it, David. How many ends had he? Well, she must cease to trouble herself for this imbecile, whom it would give her very much pleasure to shoot. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. “You remember our first meeting?” “Yes,” he answered hoarsely. We remember it. Who could say that the two weren't in collusion? When a chap like Spurlock jumped the traces, cherchez la femme, every time. ” “It is ironic that you say that, John, for it is I who am afraid of you. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners.
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