Of course Ruth was not aware that in this same volume there were lyrics known the world over. He grew more ardent, sliding her breasts out of the strapless bodice of her gown. He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. She glared at him with satisfaction.
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