" Jonathan gave utterance to a torrent of imprecations. Ruth had lived in a world without caresses. ‘His wife? Pah!’ ‘You’re saying she is not his wife?’ ‘I am saying nothing. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you. Pity you aren’t under my command. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. She felt like Snow White in a secret forest house populated by dwarves.
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