But escape to where? She thought of the ships that sailed from the peninsulas to hot deserts where spices were traded. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. And mind you don't arouse his suspicions. To make Ruth pay for it! He wanted to get away, into some immense echoless tract where he could give vent to this wild laughter which tore at his vitals. He still wore his hat, to show that the days of miracles and Christ being civil to sinners are over forever. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. The papers are continually wondering what has become of ‘Alcide.
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