McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. He went into the study and sat down at his table, but not to write. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. Anna, do you not see that the Countess is sitting alone?” She rose, and flashed a quick smile upon Ennison behind her husband’s back.
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