“Why should it matter?” he said. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. He was a philosopher. "I'll have my cot in here," said Spurlock to Ruth, "where this table is. The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. " "I won't reproach you, Jack," said the other, sternly.