It never is. Thrilling, she began to dance, swirled, glided, and dipped. “Sort of man who can see no further than his nose,” he remarked contemptuously. But let the horses be in readiness. The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight.
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