Don't build your hopes too high; but I will do what I can. I tell you what, Mr. A slight rain fell at the time; and a few leaves, caught by the eddies, whirled around. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock. Lucy could see the anger in her silhouette, the punishments and the grounding being formulated for the now dead daughter. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger.
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