] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. . . He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. “Yes. ‘His granddaughter?’ ‘Yes, his son’s daughter. ‘Like you?’ ‘But I am not French. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie. “Hi. " A detective. He claimed me for his wife, and showed to every one a marriage certificate. " "Here you have it, my dear," returned the hawker. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. When I examined you for ‘ill humors’ I longed to run my hands over your entire body, to touch your face, to caress you in the places that would give you pleasure.
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