Yet an indiscriminating, wrong-headed world gave such fellows all sorts of distinctions. He slid out of her. She could not analyse what was stirring in her: the thought of losing the doll, the dog, and the cat. Ruth and Spurlock separated, the one embarrassed, the other utterly dumfounded. Very glad. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish. You understand what I mean. Never again to be alone! To fit herself into this man's life as a hand into a glove; to use all her skill to force him into the position of depending upon her utterly; to be the spark to the divine fire! He should have his book, even if it had to be written with her heart's blood.
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