He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears. D. I don’t conceal it. The highest form of knowledge was magic: the priesthood. She had not been sufficiently prompted in relation to the ways of caravansaries; but her mind had been alert and receptive. Very quietly, he added, “Oh Lucia, I’m sorry.
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