” “You what?” she repeated incredulously. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. In Singapore that had been her only dissipation: a dozen pairs of silk stockings. It was grated and crested with spikes, like that he had just burst open, and thinking it a needless waste of time to force it, he broke off one of the spikes, which he carried with him for further purposes, and then climbed over it.
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