He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. Ruth had lived in a world without caresses. ‘Has this capitaine of yours not yet rid us of this Emile? What can he find to say to him?’ ‘Don’t be impatient,’ Gerald said, rising too and coming to draw her away from the door. “I wonder which of us enjoys that most,” said Capes—“does he, or do we?” “He seems to get a zest—” “He does it and forgets it.
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