He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me. She shook them off of one foot. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. ” She rolled over on her face, and stuffed her fingers in her ears to shut out the rhythm from her mind. CHAPTER VI Sidney Carton, thought Ruth, in pursuit of a sing-song girl! The idea was so incongruous that a cold little smile parted her lips.
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