“I know nothing about your wife. She closed her eyes more vividly to recall some line which had carried the blot. You did not marry her because you loved her; you did not marry because she might have had money; you did not marry her out of gratitude; you did not marry her because you had to. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. It's a long time since we met, eight years and more. From a bi-secting street came shouting and music. "Come down stairs directly, and let your mother look at your wrist. His curiosity put itself into a question. Even her debt to him was a triviality now.
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