Our heads swim with the thought of being together. I don’t mind it. Your first treatment of a subject is always correct, always suggestive. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. Yet you catch her eye—you can’t seem to escape from it. ’ ‘Success?’ Her eyes narrowed. "What is it?" "Can't you see? Together, down there; you and I!… As my wife! Both of us, never to be lonely again!… Will you marry me, Ruth?" As many a wiser woman had done, Ruth mistook thrilling eagerness for love. The biological laboratory had an atmosphere that was all its own.
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