" "They always act like that after drink," said Ruth, casually. She was taken dreadfully ill on the road, with spasms and short breath, and swoonings,—worse than ever she was before. You are your own Heaven and your own Hell, Lucy. The softly glittering summer stars! She saw them shining over mountains of snow, over valleys of haze and warm darkness. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home. Sydney sprang up. That's the kind, my friend, that always fall soft. I want to get away.
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