Will you come sensibly, or shall I carry you? You are mine!" Ruth's peculiar education had not vitiated the primitive senses; they were always on guard; and in a moment such as this they rushed instantly to the surface. The intoxicating sense of novelty had given place to a more business-like mood. ‘Parbleu,’ she uttered indignantly. It was a night of storm and terror, which promised each moment to become more stormy and more terrible. A dreamy sense of content crept over him. He had conveyed it to her, not verbally, but by means of a letter, which seemed to her a singularly ignoble method of prohibition.
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