The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. . The glance, which he threw at the door, was singularly expressive of his character: it was a mixture of alarm, effrontery, and resolution. But that, and that sort of thing, is just a day-dream. Without Sheila, the denizens of the neighborhood might forget they had the ability to communicate with each other. A sense of impending disaster was upon him.
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