His frowning gaze came back to her. She never questioned the motives of the characters; she had neither the ability nor the conceit for that; but she could and often did correct his lapses in colour. This she put into the trunk. The arm about her was steel hard, and she felt the weapon that was placed at her heart, which thumped uncomfortably in her chest. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently.
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