A silver necklace enhanced the dusky beauty of her neck. There’s a hansom coming round the corner. Capes scored back with an uncompromising vigor that was his way of complimenting her intelligence. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. Wood. A familiar ache of wanting made itself more insistent in her belly. But one changes the style of one's clothes yearly.
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