The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. ‘I can’t do that. Of course this thing was absolutely impossible. " At luncheon, preoccupied in thought, Spurlock did not notice the pallor on Ruth's cheeks or the hunted look in her eyes. In all these weeks she had not once knelt to pray.
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