CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. ” “That is quite untrue,” she declared cheerfully. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. ‘You escape from your own convent, at great personal danger. Something namelessly abhorrent in the eyes of those men…! She knew what arms were for—to fold and embrace and to hold one tightly; but why men wished to kiss women was still a profound mystery. Then he rallied, smiling a little. He could not kiss Ruth because the acquired conscience—struggling on its way to limbo—made the idea repellant.
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