The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. “How dared you do yourself this injustice?” “I did it for her sake,” she answered. "What of her?" cried the knight. Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign. Then instinct took over. Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense.
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