. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. His voice when he spoke was almost fiercely assertive, but there was an undernote of nervousness. Later in the evening she heard him whistling, poor man! She felt very restless and excited.
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