He jumped back, cursing. Wood, carving for his friends, and pledging the carpenter, he had his hands full. “At a boarding-house?” he gasped. But come in, dear. But I shall lose my wager if I stay a moment longer—so here goes. Remember that. She was a merry creature, it is true, and quite beautiful. I burned it. But as the mystery which surrounded Ruth fell away that which enveloped her father thickened. When I examined you for ‘ill humors’ I longed to run my hands over your entire body, to touch your face, to caress you in the places that would give you pleasure. She was fine and tender. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch. You've saved my life. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct.
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