He tried again. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. It was at the top of the building, and looked clear over a clustering mass of inferior buildings toward Regent’s Park. She had tasted freedom now, and so far she had not felt the need of protection. He had put himself before the threshold of damnation; for Ruth was now a vestal in the temple.
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