“He says you are frigid, Madame. All that I regret are the wasted years, and I am not sure that I regret them. A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his descent into the water. My poor son despairs of me, for I have primed every member of the family to bring me the latest novels whenever they choose to visit. He would repeat them innumerable times, and patiently Ruth would repeat her answers. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings.
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