She could not realize what she saw. It stunned her. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. At the sight of her he became rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink.
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