"His shin may need rubbing. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. " With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. He would refuse to listen and absolve her unshriven. I have not found the secret way into the house, for instance.
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