" The feminine vanities in Ruth were quiescent; nothing had ever occurred in her life to tingle them into action. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. “Would YOU like us—if some one told you the bare outline of our story?— and what we are doing?” “I shouldn’t mind,” said Ann Veronica. ’ She threw a melting look at Roding. He went in there, and he was in there for a good half hour. . ’ ‘Leonardo again,’ Gerald muttered and, to her disappointment, dropped her hand. " "It is life. Listen.
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