Wood fancied he heard the exulting laugh of Jonathan Wild. Yours?" The stranger hesitated. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. His chin was angular and his lips were 16 small, his mouth tiny and refined. “Experte credo. John, I have something to say to you. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled.
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