“What is the exact force of a motif?” she asked at random. "Good-bye!" For a moment Ruth was tempted to fling herself against the withered bosom; but long since she had learned repression. Her back stiffened. The man who staggers, whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually. She moaned as she touched him. ‘I find this was excessively clever of Gérard.
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