Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. You climb by disappointing men. “After all,” he said, “I am not sure that you are not a very material person. The two lovers sat together, and their sole discourse turned upon Jack and his ill-fated mother. It's never a bad day that has a good ending. “Even Katy Pfister can’t touch you now. ” With a murmured word of excuse she glided away, and Courtlaw, who had come with a mission which seemed to him to be one of life or death, was left to listen to the latest art jargon from Chelsea.
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