His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. I suppose that’s the gist of the whole thing. He knew. She had tasted freedom now, and so far she had not felt the need of protection. ” Her elation teetered in mid-air for a second, then began to flutter down around her like a badly-built house of cards. Do not imagine that I cannot do so, as well as I can this Gérard. One gets drawn into things. That's a queer yarn.
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