But once he had steered the lady down the hall and along a passage to a window seat at the end, he abandoned the subject of society. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. You are all that I am or hope to be—the celestial atom God put into me at the beginning. Shortly Ruth and Spurlock took the way home. She put her clothes back on, 118 lipstick smeared all over her face.
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