“Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. "'T is he!" he mentally ejaculated. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods.
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