"With pleasure, Sir," replied Edgeworth Bess. “I am not in need of any. She felt him sometimes at night as he called to her in her dreams. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. ” She stopped abruptly, and turned about toward the front door. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. The queer phase of the dream was this, she was at no time a woman; she was symbolical of something, and he followed to learn what this something was. Not that it would make any difference if he was alive still. Stanley regarded him through his glasses with something approaching animosity.
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