“She tried everything, and last of all she tried the stage. Visiting? Dressed for it, certainly. And, to show you that I have no intention of flying, I will myself close and lock the door. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. In Singapore that had been her only dissipation: a dozen pairs of silk stockings. Pity he's ta'en to bad ways so airly. Again, he would ask a few questions, and Ruth would answer them. "I fear we're too late," he whispered to Thames. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. She pulled, he rose to his feet.
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