Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally. “Want to see my fangs?” She asked. “Odd!” she said. ” She replied. Both these ladies possessed considerable personal attractions. Never before had he seen a man like Enschede nor heard a voice like Ruth's. ‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone.
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