The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. "Choose, Jack. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. Laughed at me, then. It began as a joke. He seemed to know a great deal about life. His face was wreathed in smiles, his beringed hand was cordially outstretched. "Get ready the irons, Caliban.
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