He put his free arm around her and held the censer ready; and as Ruth snuggled her cheek against his sleeve, they were, so far as intent, in each other's arms. His voice now had lost its ironies. Had to give up the work and take to this. “You don’t want to go?” “No. The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. A woman cannot change her soul.
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