"There won't be much left for you," he said. This is no place for me. For a long time he remained standing before the fire, staring at the situation. It makes no difference. One woman hit the ground running, Sebastian ran after her. Ray Plote would not leave a written explanation. She made no answer, and for a time he debated some problems with himself. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. She was already a little prepared by her discursive reading and discussion under the Widgett influence for ideas and “movements,” though temperamentally perhaps she was rather disposed to resist and criticise than embrace them. Well, this was the side of the world where things like that happened. I'm a graybeard, an old bachelor; so I am accorded certain privileges. He lost control of the machine. What a fool I was to separate the two in my mind. He had put himself before the threshold of damnation; for Ruth was now a vestal in the temple.
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