“You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. They trudged along a little hungry, because of the fruitarian refreshments, and mentally very active.
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