The Scot understood that, gently and indirectly, Ruth was asking her husband a question, opening a door if he cared to enter. It seemed to them they could never have been really alive before, but only dimly anticipating existence. The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. ‘Though we might have done, if a certain addlepated clothhead hadn’t let her get away. I can’t love you.
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