" Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. Darrell. . ‘Jacques, are you dead? Jacques, do you hear me?’ Melusine put her cheek to his lips, and felt the faint warmth of his breath. “I wish. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. From under his pillow he dragged forth the key to the trunk. Ruth had lived in a world without caresses.
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