Take it, I tell you. You are the High Priestess of Life. His slightest move caused her infinite pleasure. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. You’ll be telling me Gerald did not catch you snooping at the Bicknacres, I suppose. The idea of your being a failure would never have occurred to me. It made her laugh, which in turn made him laugh.
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