It wouldn’t be you. Spurlock stared at Ruth across the rim of his bowl. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. You are not going to that infidel Russell’s classes. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. He was manifestly exerting his mind for her, and she found herself fully disposed to justify his interest. "Well, well; I have given out of my wisdom.
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