Afterward, one afternoon, he hovered about her, and came and sat beside her and talked of beauty and the riddle of beauty for some time. There were no mourners. “We have,” he said, “to be the utmost friends. ” His voice assumed an easy detached tone. There was the world besides, looming darker and larger. He saw himself retreating from barricade to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the terror she inspired.
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