His kisses drew deeper, he started unlacing her dress. He did not love Ruth. Men ought not to idealize any woman. The darkness prevented the carpenter from discerning the features or figure of the stranger; and the ceaseless din precluded the possibility of holding any communication by words with him. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. “It’s the spring,” he said. It appeared from what he said that he had been captured when asleep,—that his liquor had been drugged,—otherwise, he would never have allowed himself to be taken alive. It heralded you, promised you. I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think.
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