“One moment, if you please!” She stopped short and looked round. Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign. "I could almost forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor dear wife—No, not quite that," he added, a little confused. CHAPTER VII The astonishing collapse of Spurlock created a tableau of short duration. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre.
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