“Do you want some of mine?” “Yes. "Has Jack displeased you? If so, overlook his fault this once. Ruth sighed; Spurlock stood up and drew his hand across his forehead as if awakening from a dream. “A Socialist of the order of John Ruskin. Ruth, having decided a course for herself—that of renunciation—and having the strength to keep it, met these advances in precisely the mood they were offered. “You were never born,” he declared, “to follow the well worn roads. I offered him a hundred to watch Spurlock. And now, only twenty-four hours behind him … that is, if he wasn't paddling by on the return route to Hong-Kong or had dropped down to Macao. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. The opiate has done its duty.
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