In response to an almost imperative gesture from the nurse, Anna laid her hand upon his. She walked through the office to the door, aimlessly. Jonathan threw open the street-door. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. I want to talk to him and go about with him.
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