The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. When she had finished the first tale, there was a sense of disappointment. His heart beat wildly and he was afraid lest the strain be too much; but the girl shook her head and smiled and pointed to the top of the mountain. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. She throws a sort of spell over us all. I have worn it for weeks and weeks. "I'll tell you," answered Jonathan, sternly.
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