All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. “This is mere nonsense, mere tongue-tied fear!” she said. "Constance is yet living. I waited for her at the back. Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying his bottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordid pictures she had seen so often. You may go back, Marthe.
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