She was not altogether surprised when she found a deer, gutted of its entrails and strung with a garland of flowers, on the cave’s doorstep one humid summer morning. He had barely settled at his desk in his library, when he was disturbed by two morning callers. Ruth had not expected to be kissed; so the omission passed unnoted. “I’ll go,” he said, “but I warn you that I shall find you out. You will survive, mark my words. All this torrent of misleading, spurious stuff that pours from the press. “I suppose most people’s letters are queer. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. Of course, if at any time—see reason—alter your opinion. If you choose, you can see him put on board the Zeeslang yourself, Sir Rowland.
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