He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. ‘Like a vision she were. The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. " After all those former bitter failures, this cup was sweet, even if there was the flavour of irony. There was nothing on the Tablets of Moses that forebade Spurlock marrying Ruth; there were no previous contracts. Her eyes were lit with smouldering passion. It was if the world had blinked out for a moment.
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