Spurlock slept on. “I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to tea. A woman indeed this to love and be loved, beautiful, graceful, gay. It was rude and disrespectful to raise her eyes to him, her mother had warned. If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances.
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