And yet, Spurlock was afraid of the doctor; so was Ruth. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. "Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour. She pulled down her veil and made her way to the door.
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