“Anna,” he cried eagerly. Spurlock had found the typewriter, oiled and cleaned it, and began to practise on it in the night. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid. At any rate he made it very clear that night that there was an ineradicable discord in life, a jarring something that must shatter all her dreams of a way of living for women that would enable them to be free and spacious and friendly with men, and that was the passionate predisposition of men to believe that the love of women can be earned and won and controlled and compelled. The man looked closely at Anna as she crossed the footway, and as he held her skirt from the wheel he pressed something into her hand. His hesitation was visible, and Spurlock took advantage of this to run to Ruth. "Surely," observed Thames, laughing, "to one who entertains so high an opinion of Jonathan Wild, as Mr.
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