" It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. McClintock stared into the bowl of his pipe and Spurlock into his coffee cup. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. ’ ‘Of course she could not have known to whom they belonged. Directly dinner was over Mr. ’ Then memory hit and he stared at his friend.
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