Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. But if his frame was immature, his looks were not so. ” She laughed. It is not at all comme il faut. I’ve never found them hostile. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. There were a few loose, broken fragments of rock to reckon with upon the ledges, and one place where hands did as much work as toes.
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