. ’ ‘That’s just it,’ said Joan Ibstock shamefacedly. ’ Kimble nodded. Free! All the fine ecstasy, without the numbing terror. That there would eventually be a lover Ruth knew; and she waited his appearance upon the scene, waited with an impatience which was both personal and literary. Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. The door was locked; but, with the bars of iron, it was speedily burst open.
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