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She nuzzled his chest and he breathed deeply of the scent of her Finesse conditioner. " Gently she thrust Ruth aside. " "Ah! you're so very particular," sighed Mrs. The Night-Cellar XVIII. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. And yet, Spurlock was afraid of the doctor; so was Ruth.
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