“Indeed,” she said, “I would not. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. Already he was dramatizing Ruth, involving her, now in some pearl thieving adventure, now in some impossible tale of a white goddess. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. It gave her joy to see them laughing, even though she was unsure of what she had done wrong. Then he entered her passionately, riding her with exquisite precision.
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