" "But a man may love his wife!" cried Spurlock, utterly bewildered. “Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me. The lady grasped it more firmly and turned it upon Hilary. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent. "It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. She also knew that he was the type who would not make a single physical overture until she pushed the correct buttons. Then, one night, he glanced up to behold Ruth and Rollo in the doorway. You have made enough sacrifices for her surely without this. Make haste!" Ruth hurried off to her own room. Wood in the deepest mourning.
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