Only how had they missed him? Were they imbecile? Or perhaps the mists had concealed him from them. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances. " "I'm no reader of riddles," said Jonathan. Great sport, eh? To haul them back from the ragged edge.
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