"Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. Will you come sensibly, or shall I carry you? You are mine!" Ruth's peculiar education had not vitiated the primitive senses; they were always on guard; and in a moment such as this they rushed instantly to the surface. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. Tears flowed in rivulets down 121 her cheeks and she began to cry. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. Part 3 For a time they walked in silence through the back streets that lead southward from the College.
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