On the Day he had trumpet-like outbreaks of cordiality, varied by a watchful preoccupation. The real Ruth was as completely hidden as though she stood behind the walls of Agra Fort. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose. The thought allured him, and therein lay the danger.
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