” He played it cool, but he had seen it in her face. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. “God in Heaven, Annabel!” he cried. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky. "Your name is Spurlock?" "It is. "Iss, Massa. From then on he was Ruth's dog. Spurlock relaxed, suddenly, and sank deeply into his pillows.
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