What marriage really meant (aside from the idea of escape), Ruth had not the least conception, no more than a child. She held out her hand frankly. Nothing, in short, portable or valuable was left. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. You do not understand, and you would like to. You are not a tourist seeking adventure. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. "I am very wicked," she said. The salt air was fresher than the stale air in the manor. “You will pardon me, sir,” he said in a subdued tone, “but I think that you have forgotten to look at your engagement book.
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