It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled and rioted. And he, her lawful husband, dared not go to her and console her! Accursed—all of them— Enschede, Ruth, and himself. CHAPTER XXIII. E. All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin. “Isn’t that rather a strange question—under the circumstances?” he asked quietly. It’s not like we’re getting married. There was nothing to replace the all important letter from her father. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration.
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