For Ruth was in love, tenderly and beautifully in love; but she did not know how to express it beyond the fetch and carry phase. She dare not risk it. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. " "Perhaps not," replied Jack, carelessly.
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