“I am under police surveillance,” she said. ‘Gérard, you are a great fool. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her.
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