"What weight are these irons?" asked Jonathan, coolly addressing one of the partners. ’ Gerald raised his brows. “Close your eyes. The man was my husband. She dismissed the idea of doing so. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. The recollection was too painful, and he burst into an agony of tears. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears. He might spend the rest of his days at McClintock's in perfect security. He had a great contempt for the sections the “theorizers” produced. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. But with the morning, the glorious unstained morning the passion of living would stir even the blood of a clod. He did not know—and probably never would unless she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly ways in this latitude.
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