’ ‘To you,’ she said angrily. ‘Then it must certainly be Eugénie. White’s,” she said, “and if he is going to persist in this delusion, we cannot both remain here. “After all, it’s our honeymoon. What a pity! But why? There was no way over this puzzle, nor under it, nor around it: that men should drink, knowing the inevitable payment. 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. Glancing towards him she saw that a shadow had fallen upon his face.
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