" In the living room Spurlock's glance was constantly drawn toward Ruth; but in fear that she might sense something wrong, he walked over to the piano and struck a few chords. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. John sat pensively in the back of his best friend's mother's minivan, piloted by his best friend Mark. If nothing else had clinched that, the purse had. But if not himself, there would be another soon enough. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger. So I come round the other way and—Lordy, miss, I’m that sorry I made a mull of it. They are not your flowers.
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