There was a round table covered, not with the usual “tapestry” cover, but with a plain green cloth that went passably with the wall-paper. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. She looked at him as he thrust deeply, his face contorted with pleasure as he watched her riding him. “That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. . “Very well,” he said, “I will go.
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