The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. The conceit of Howard Spurlock in imagining he knew what mental suffering was! But Enschede was right: Ruth must never know. His arms slipped around her waist as they were on the doorstep and he kissed her lips sweetly. Jack hastily retreated, and taking the first means of concealment that occurred to him, descended the cellar steps. " "Why, what'll you do?" demanded the turnkey.
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