My thanks, by the by. "Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause. “Why will you not be sensible? Go back to your old life and your old friends, and forget all about Paris and this absurd delusion of yours. Her anger parlayed with her confusion, as she realized that the new marriage was about as optional as the first one and her hunger was growing inside her like a weed. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. I don’t classify. “You do not quite understand,” she said gently. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun. Curiosity to see what a sing-song girl was like took possession of Ruth's thoughts.
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