Oh, you must believe me. It is not well that a daughter should talk to her father as Ruth talked to hers that day. She was not a reversion to type, which intimates the primordial; she suggested rather the incarnation of some goddess of the South Seas. I believe it amused him. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. How to hold her, how to keep her at his side; this was the problem with which he struggled. ‘Cousin? But I am a fool. " He held out his dry hard hand into which she placed hers.
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