“Never mind me. What happened between Ruth and her father that made him hurry off without passing ordinary courtesies with me?" "I suppose I ought to tell you," said Spurlock; "but it is understood that Ruth shall never know the truth. A door, it may be remembered, opened from Wild's dwelling into this yard. If it was not an actual personal lover, it still might be the lover not yet incarnate, not yet perhaps suspected. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions in her mind. You can if you will. He was a large oafish man, a man that seemed deceptively harmless, and some thought him slightly retarded. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. After this occurence, not a word was exchanged between them until they came in sight of the sloop, which was lying at anchor off Wapping. The doors were closed and barricaded, and the mob threatened to burst them open if Jack was not delivered to them. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. Did he like freaks? She opened her black umbrella, her giant sun deflector.
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