’ His finger came out and Melusine felt it stroke her cheek. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. ‘But I am perfectly serious,’ he returned in a voice of protest. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. " At luncheon, preoccupied in thought, Spurlock did not notice the pallor on Ruth's cheeks or the hunted look in her eyes. Something happened down there, and probably I'll never know what.
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