“Thank you—for coming,” he said. Here we are absconding, pretending to be what we are not; shady, to say the least of it. “You will be so good as to leave us your correct name and address, mademoiselle,” he said curtly. How did you get your luggage out of the house? Wasn’t it—wasn’t it rather in some respects—rather a lark? It’s one of my regrets for my lost youth. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. She moved her hand off of his knee, deliberately slow. "What is it?" "Can't you see? Together, down there; you and I!… As my wife! Both of us, never to be lonely again!… Will you marry me, Ruth?" As many a wiser woman had done, Ruth mistook thrilling eagerness for love.
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