207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. Half an hour afterwards the body of Jack was carefully examined. "That's a fine tale," said Spurlock. Still unconscious of anything he did physically. Spurlock stared at Ruth across the rim of his bowl. He was a small, dark, reserved man, with a large inflexiblelooking convex forehead, and his wife was very pink and high-spirited, with one of those chins that pass insensibly into a full, strong neck. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. For my part, I think those shackles extremely becoming. Her fingers closed upon it instinctively. Beyond was another door, on which was painted in black letters: MR. ’ Lucy giggled. Then all the embarrassments of the matter flashed in upon her. Gazing into each other's eyes with new-found rapture, neither observed the sudden appearance in the doorway of an elderly woman in travel-stained linen.
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