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But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Eh bien, we shall see. Now He has taken that out and given it form and beauty—you!" "Wonderful hand!" Ruth seized his right hand and kissed it. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. ” “How? Show me. A sob was strangled in her throat. “I don’t mind, of course, your seeing her sometimes, still there are differences— differences in social atmospheres. Then he released her hand, and sat back a little, appearing to concentrate his thoughts on her face.
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