His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. No work that offered was at all of the quality she had vaguely postulated for herself. ‘You put that thing away now, missie. She could now see to read; so she stirred the manuscript about until she came upon the first page. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. With a moment of inward shame he remembered his deportment towards Anna.
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