He went over her features one by one in his mind. “Oh dear, I’m not dressed. You have converted me to—Lester Ward! You are my dear friend, you are a slip of a girl, but there are moments when my head has been on your breast, when your heart has been beating close to my ears, when I have known you for the goddess, when I have wished myself your slave, when I have wished that you could kill me for the joy of being killed by you. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets.
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