He heard Rollo's stump beat a gentle tattoo on the floor. “I cannot but conclude,” he said, “that your errand involved the recital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself. She sought hastily in her mind for a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come. Not Trodger. She was clear there were no other minds like them in all the world. I can fairly understand Ruth; but you…!" "Have you ever been so lonely that the soul of you cried in anguish? Twentyfour hours a day to think in, alone?… Perhaps I did not want to go mad from loneliness. He accepted this confession conditionally: that no young man had kissed her.
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