Spurlock began to watch for Ruth's coming in the morning; first, with negligent interest, then with positive eagerness. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. “What do you think you are doing?” He asked. “Miss Pellissier, isn’t it?” he said. Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. He blushed furiously; it was not what he had expected to hear. A sinister thought edged in. Norris. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. What'll you be doing?" "What can I do?" asked Spurlock, raising his haggard face.
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