He could not kiss Ruth because the acquired conscience—struggling on its way to limbo—made the idea repellant. And you’re as clean as fire. You are the High Priestess of Life. He spoke in quick nervous sentences. But he could only discern a black and shapeless mass, floating upon the water at a little distance, which, to his bewildered fancy, appeared absolutely standing still. Wood. I mystify you; I can see that. Something drew you.
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