He depended upon her, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement it was now permissible to give him. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. "Good-bye, young man; and good luck. Ramage,” she said, “I can’t—Not now. ” “I mean—” “I behaved like an idiot, that’s all.
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