She opened the door to him herself. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. Lucy heard a stir, but if Dawn Plote were to arise and come into the room, it could only mean two murders tonight. One only. He drew her closer.
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