He guided himself between her legs. One day they were at tea in the laboratory and a discussion sprang up about the question of women’s suffrage. She guessed that he probably slept all of three hours a night at most. The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way. By this action, Lucy already knew what the answer was. It was not only that her father had said all sorts of inconsistent and unreasonable things, but that by some incomprehensible infection she herself had replied in the same vein. Spurlock knew that somewhere along the way he would write a story worth while. His back was no sooner turned, than she slipped this casket into the box. He sent a speculative glance at the immobile yellow face.
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