And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. Ruth was strong in body and soul. “When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image.
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