CHAPTER II. He could not kiss Ruth because the acquired conscience—struggling on its way to limbo—made the idea repellant. But it seemed that their presence was not even suspected. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack.
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