He felt the first sting of the whip. And she had been doubting since that walk in the Zoological Gardens whether, indeed, he did simply care for her. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire. He subjected me there to great annoyance by claiming me as his wife. But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned. Take me to the Stone Room. I cannot let you go. I—well, I lost my temper. ‘No more, Saling, no more,’ said Mrs Sindlesham in accents of exhaustion.
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