It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. ‘But it is idiot. Ruth went on to explain. Here they would be having lunch. Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. Sheppard, whose distress at the consumption of the provisions had been somewhat allayed by the anticipation of the intruder's departure after he had satisfied his appetite, was now terrified in the extreme by seeing a light approach, and hearing footsteps on the stairs. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination.
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