As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. ‘No mistaking you this time. Never mind. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. But now you must be quiet; there's been too much excitement. ’ Melusine remembered a thin man of sour aspect, living—like her father and his wife Suzanne—off the vicomte’s bounty. And of course! She had a brilliant idea. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground.
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