‘You do not believe me?’ ‘I do not. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. A shiver slid down inside her. She’s as stubborn as the proverbial mule, and—’ with a sigh that felt wrenched out of him ‘—utterly captivating.
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