There’s plenty to be got out of life in a decent sort of way. CHAPTER XXIII Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the lagoon. I am not afraid that you may try to make love to me. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk.
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