Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. He was always drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a wonderful new departure in this comparison. The voices went into his ears but left no impression of their import. He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters. Little by little the pool cleared, the whims vanished: so that both Ruth and the doctor, by the middle of the third week, began to accept Spurlock's actions as normal, whereas there was still a mote or two which declined to settle, still a kink in the gray matter that refused to straighten out. 4. But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same.
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