For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. Not if I read her aright. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness.
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