There was something which chilled even him in the cold impassivity of her features. His face darkened. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done. Ruth was not a woman; she was a phenomenon. Do not be a fool, Jacques. Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action. It is that, is it not?” “No,” he answered readily. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them.
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