His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself. “I don’t think you see,” she replied, with tears on her cheeks, and her brows knitting, “how it shames and, ah!—disgraces me—AH TISHU!” She put down the tray with a concussion on her toilet-table. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock. I am grateful, indeed I am. He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees.
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