" "I'll not go," answered the other. No, no! Not now!" Ruth turned abruptly and walked toward the bungalow, mounted the veranda steps, and vanished within. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. In this cell was a huntsman, who had fractured his skull while hunting, and was perpetually hallooing after the hounds;—in that, the most melancholy of all, the grinning gibbering lunatic, the realization of "moody madness, laughing wild. I’ve wanted you—always. And for Suzanne and the vicomte, I am nothing. I felt somehow I’d hurt you.
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