To tell Ruth anything, it would be necessary to tell her everything; and I cannot and you must not. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. ’ ‘Well, but he was a deserter, you see.
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