The customary gold band was missing; but a soft gold Chinese ring Spurlock had picked up in Singapore—the characters representing good luck and prosperity—was slipped over Ruth's third finger. She made an abrupt personal appeal. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. If there is, it’s a mere wrapping—there’s better underneath. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. Wood!" exclaimed Jack, in surprise. He stepped in with a heavy foreboding of calamity. “No, no, no. Those I don’t mind, though, the games.
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