’ Gerald opened his eyes at her. "Poor Mrs. I had gone further than I meant to—with some Englishmen. . He thought rationally; that is to say, he thought clearly, as a child thinks clearly. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. So while he talked to this girl of work and freedom, his slightly protuberant eyes were noting the gracious balance of her limbs and body across the gate, the fine lines of her chin and neck. The feeling of last days grew stronger with her as their number diminished. " So saying, he unlocked the door and strode out of the room.
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