And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. She gave up as he finished, spending himself in her mouth. Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. Her father’s step quickened to a trot. “If you say so, my pet. He sees men all defiled by coarse thoughts, coarse ways of living cruelties.
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