‘That little kiss cost him his sanctuary, my girl, and don’t you forget it. Already he was dramatizing Ruth, involving her, now in some pearl thieving adventure, now in some impossible tale of a white goddess. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. ‘And I suppose I shall be obliged to endure another nonsensical tale about your husband.
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