And in the vestry was the sword of monsieur le major. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. She taught him all the lore she had; about bird-life and tree-life and the changing mysteries of the sea. I might as well try to build a ladder to heaven. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. The opiate has done its duty. She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. You are very lovely, Ruth. And not a worthy tome in sight. At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. Good riddance to bad rubbish.
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