He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. He drew her closer. The ring's yours, and you're mine. In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid. If my Mom found out, she’d kill me. That ring manifestly occupied her thoughts a great deal. What marriage really meant (aside from the idea of escape), Ruth had not the least conception, no more than a child. “Indeed, I must implore you to return. ” Mr. Kneebone—she was too well acquainted; having, more than once, been obliged to repel his advances; and, though his impertinence would have given her little concern at another season, it now added considerably to her distraction.
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