” “It is ironic that you say that, John, for it is I who am afraid of you. ] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. "Enough's as good as a feast. ” Lucy grumbled as she trotted through the formaldehyde stench of Biology Lab. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. "Speak out—don't be alarmed," said Wood, in a kind and encouraging tone. The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. “It was,” she admitted. He was in a curious state of desperation. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women. She winced when first she heard the preparation-room door open and Capes came down the laboratory; but when at last he reached her she was self-possessed.
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