I—I am a lovesick idiot, and not accountable for my actions. He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. Spurlock knew exactly what he was doing, however: speculative mischief, to see how she would act. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later.
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