But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. ” He could feel a small bump where he knew a cavity of smooth flesh should reside. ” “For a little time,” she answered. " "But not for me," growled Terence, in an under tone. Then his tiny bow mouth opened into an adoring smile. 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.
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