‘Silence,’ hissed a voice in French. The crown has passed from the brow of one monarch to that of another. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. He could not kiss Ruth. She turned there and beckoned. A dozen shynesses and intellectual barriers were being outflanked or broken down in her mind. One more passer-by; and always would she remember his patience and tenderness and disinterestedness.
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