A dissipated, loose-living man. " "Won't my life do as well as his?" supplicated the other. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. He could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt. It was not due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, a protective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery in order to hold the interest of the male.
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