“If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. There was nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. If she wanted men to battle beasts in combat, a festival arose for them to battle for her.
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