God, we suck. 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. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. A skeleton was propped against the mantelpiece.
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