Even this man had accepted her for “Alcide” without a moment’s question. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. ‘Damnation! Too late. I am your servitor. Yet you can look Cheveney in the face and declare that you do not know him. “Yes. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt.
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