Grasping one of chairs about the little table, he drew it forward and sat astride it, in a fashion as insolent as it was unexpected. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. "To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. He was there concealed, waiting her return.
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