" CHAPTER XX To Spurlock it seemed as if a great iron door had swung in behind him, shutting out the old world. She brought her hands up to her head and ripped out two long chunks of her hair, pulling out shreds of scalp. ‘Unheard of, ain’t it? To tell the truth, I half expected him to leave everything to one of his doxies. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. As soon as he gets into blue water, he'll think no more of pitching the boy overboard than of lighting his pipe. “You’re a biologist, aren’t you?” He began to talk of his own impressions of biology as a commonplace magazine reader who had to get what he could from the monthly reviews, and was glad to meet with any information from nearer the fountainhead. It began in the eyes and spread to the lips: warm, embracing, even fatherly. She was too late. “You’re still,” he said, “in the educational years. For a few minutes he kept them at bay.
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