But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. “I refuse. "Not a single whooper-upter! Nothing but torment and remorse … and Ruth! Children, put your arms around me. ‘I do not understand you. I suppose that shocks one’s ideas. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. And I suppose it is too much to expect that any entirely English young lady would be prepared to tolerate me for the remainder of my life.
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