Once more he begged; but as Ruth only repeated her sharp command, he spun about and raced toward the jungle. In a tall glass the rind of a Syrian orange was arranged in spiral form. Not far from him was a knot of lads drinking, swearing, and playing at dice as eagerly and as skilfully as any of the older hands. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son.
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