You’re a lady. “Mike, that’s not even remotely funny. “What were you doing outside Miss Pellissier’s flat to-night? You were looking at her windows. Strewn across the bed was a multitude of jumbled garments. For whom had its sharp point been intended? Valade? Or perhaps his wife now that the girl had word of their marriage. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock. And you are something of a heroine, too. "Nothing—nothing," she answered, bursting into tears. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. "Red apples and snow!" he repeated.
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