CHAPTER XXIII Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the lagoon. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. ‘Do you think I do not know? What am I doing here, do you think?’ ‘That’s just exactly what I’ve been asking myself,’ he returned.
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