” “Nor I,” she remarked tersely. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. “Ruin me? For what? Posterity? How could you ruin me, Lucy? What on earth are you talking about?” He got up and began to pace the room. So long as he lived, Spurlock knew that in fancy he would be reconstructing that scene between himself and Ruth's father. Lord help him! he's the very image of his father.
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