” “I wish you would use my Christian name,” he said. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. " "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. It was her distinctive test of an emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion. “My child, I do not wish. The affair passed at one leap from a spree to a nightmare of violence and disgust. “I think,” she said, “that I would rather not have anything to say about that man. ‘There is no question of a dispute. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully.
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