" "Oh, that!" she said, with a deprecating gesture. “The bravest of us have joints in our armour. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. Will you come sensibly, or shall I carry you? You are mine!" Ruth's peculiar education had not vitiated the primitive senses; they were always on guard; and in a moment such as this they rushed instantly to the surface.
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