Spurlock mused over the previous night. . That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. But she was relentless. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. ” Lucy blinked from the winter sunlight and reached behind herself to yank at her hood.
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