So Ruth returned to her room and sorted the books and magazines the doctor had loaned her, inspected the titles and searched for pictures. Only think how compromising. She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floor with her chin resting upon the window-sill. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. He hated horizons. “I was lonely. ” “No,” he said, and tried again: “but I must tell you quite definitely that I feel it to be my duty to forbid any such exploit.
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