He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. Hardened as he may be, that would touch him. Hope reared.
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