" "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. She began to exercise those lures which were bred in her bone—the bones of all women. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. His Dad is an electrical engineer at the same place as my dad works and his mom used to be a model, I’m not kidding.
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