‘Forgive this intrusion, ma’am, I beg. Cloud back of your hat!" He opened his eyes again. So far she had not heard the sound of his voice. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. It’s like this: You want freedom. “So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked.
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