“I’m not coarse—no! But I’ve got no purity of mind—no real purity of mind. He put his free arm around her and held the censer ready; and as Ruth snuggled her cheek against his sleeve, they were, so far as intent, in each other's arms. I was not even sure whether it was loaded. Her hair touched water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness. There was no past, no future, only this exhilarating present. Abruptly would come the end. Shotbolt, the head turnkey of Clerkenwell Prison, and Mr. Never for a moment had violence come between these two since long ago he had, in spite of her mother’s protest in the background, carried her kicking and squalling to the nursery for some forgotten crime.
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