“No thanks, Cathy. He found, however, that now the time had come he utterly lacked the courage to attempt any such speech. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. He had put himself before the threshold of damnation; for Ruth was now a vestal in the temple. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind.
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