He pulled away. "Please hurry the ammonia;" and Ruth turned away abruptly. Vaguely she heard the distinctive sound of male voices as she saw Gosse dive towards the fateful pew. You’d make a good Devil. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. The small bed’s hospital corners had been put into disarray by Michelle’s crying fit. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed.
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