"Time to dress for dinner," said Ruth from behind the curtain. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. ‘No! Let me alone!’ ‘It is not safe!’ ‘That is entirely my affair, and not your affair in the least,’ she told him haughtily. She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him.
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