It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. She said it audibly, having learned long since that an audible prayer was a concentrated one.
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