She longed to allow him to kiss her again, to touch her again. From then on he was Ruth's dog. Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour. At this juncture, and just as a cuckoo-clock in the corner struck sis, Jack Sheppard walked into the room, with the packing-case under his arm. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless.
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