‘What, and miss getting myself murdered?’ ‘She said she wouldn’t murder you. This getting up at dawn—real dawn—and working until seven was a distinct novelty. The evenings were dulcet and soft. The period of repression was over. Did he track her? She was unaware if he did. Doubts began to rise up all about her, plucking at her confidence. Little by little the pool cleared, the whims vanished: so that both Ruth and the doctor, by the middle of the third week, began to accept Spurlock's actions as normal, whereas there was still a mote or two which declined to settle, still a kink in the gray matter that refused to straighten out.
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