She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. " At luncheon, preoccupied in thought, Spurlock did not notice the pallor on Ruth's cheeks or the hunted look in her eyes. There were three exit doors. "Come out!" roared Quilt, looking into the aperture.
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