' That's your signal. If you don’t like it, I won’t be mad, I promise. “And yet,” he said, “you bid me talk cheerfully, or not at all. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. Visible underneath his collar were some metal tags. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand.
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