“Come with me. He’s the handle of life for you. You can think all round me. Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song. At least, you are one, and I am disguised like one. A strange betrothal!—the primal idea of which was escape! The girl, intent upon abrogating for ever all legal rights of the father in the daughter, of rendering innocuous the thing she had now named the Terror: the boy, seeking selfcrucifixion in expiation of his transgression, changing a peccadillo into damnation! It was easy for Ruth to surrender to the idea, for she believed she was loved; and in gratitude it was already her determination to give this boy her heart's blood, drop by drop, if he wanted it. But you had better know the truth to start with.
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