The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. Some part of the stiff vigour of the man seemed to have subsided. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. She herself had cut the slender tie that had bound them. Another horseman followed quickly at the heels of the first; but just as he passed the spot where Jack stood, his steed missed its footing, and fell. This foster child’s name was Mary Lucia Iovelli, and we have photographic documents of a woman who looks exactly like you, dear. His hair had begun to gray, his belly had just begun to round.
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