Poor Ruth: for a father, a madman; for a husband—a thief! Spurlock rocked his body slightly. ‘Nevertheless, you will marry me,’ he snarled. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. The black clad students streamed slowly to their positions carrying their instruments like offerings to the pilgrimage. At length he proceeded toward McClintock's bungalow, drawn by the lights and the sound of music. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. However, come along. The cage has a strong door, with an iron grating at the top, and further secured by a stout bolt and padlock.
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