Enschede, to have starved his heart as well as Ruth's because, having laid a curse, he knew not how to turn aside from it! How easily he might have forgotten the unworthy mother in the love of the child! And this day to hear her voice lifted in a quality of anathema. Spurlock sat limply, his arms hanging. ‘Parbleu, but it is not comfortable in the least in there. The storm burst upon them in its fury. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers.
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