She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. "An idea has just occurred to me," said Gay, "which Jack's narrative has suggested. He was yellow and coarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth and wagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one of these disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. Stanley went on, “but there are things— there are stories about Ramage. He passed, and came loitering back and stood beside her, silently looking into her face. He was apt to play so many games, she was afraid she might have misunderstood. Or had you not noticed?’ He sneered. " With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break. One main avenue was for her to become a sort of salaried accessory wife or mother, to be a governess or an assistant schoolmistress, or a very high type of governess-nurse. ‘Give me an opportunity to open my mouth, and I will. We’ll go. Both, however, having safely landed, they cautiously crossed the room, and passed down the first flight of steps in silence. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study.
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