"Ruth?" "Hoddy!" she cried. . " Spurlock pointed in the sloping fields outside the walls. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. Will you come sensibly, or shall I carry you? You are mine!" Ruth's peculiar education had not vitiated the primitive senses; they were always on guard; and in a moment such as this they rushed instantly to the surface.
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