She was emerging from the primordial as Spurlock was declining toward it. Her cheeks were aflame. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else. You’re the only person I’ve really given good, straight, unselfish thought to. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. . His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants.
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