The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. ‘Let go!’ ‘Do you take me for a fool?’ Gerald demanded. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. She was vaguely happy over this arrangement which put her in the wing across the middle hall, alone.
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