He suspected a trap. “But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves. She closed her eyes, discerning the divinations he had been up to during her violin concert. Gashes on his arms were already beginning to heal and disappear. If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances. Clearing the few impediments in his way, he soon reached the condemned pew, where it had once been his fate to sit; and extending himself on the seat endeavoured to snatch a moment's repose.
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