” “How?” “It prevents our marrying. What are you after?’ ‘But my pistol and dagger, imbecile,’ she exclaimed impatiently, moving sharply back. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. There were groves of cultivated guava, orange, lemon, and pomegranate. A person of somewhat artificial graces and mannerisms, she was for once in her life perfectly natural.
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