Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. There were no mourners. What marriage really meant (aside from the idea of escape), Ruth had not the least conception, no more than a child. And where was that devil? Had the soldiers found him? She could not think he had escaped, for she had only just made it into the passage as they entered the library. They sat down, McClintock reaching for a lump of sugar which he began munching.
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