She nuzzled his chest and he breathed deeply of the scent of her Finesse conditioner. You tonic my liver and you tonic my soul. A strange betrothal!—the primal idea of which was escape! The girl, intent upon abrogating for ever all legal rights of the father in the daughter, of rendering innocuous the thing she had now named the Terror: the boy, seeking selfcrucifixion in expiation of his transgression, changing a peccadillo into damnation! It was easy for Ruth to surrender to the idea, for she believed she was loved; and in gratitude it was already her determination to give this boy her heart's blood, drop by drop, if he wanted it. "Your faults were the faults of circumstances. "Confusion!" he cried; "something has happened. " "Well, well—wait awhile," returned Quilt; "his lordship won't forget you.
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