" Again Ruth nodded. “I wonder,” he said, “if women do know things by instinct? I have my doubts about feminine instinct. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. “No, stay, Lucy. He understood now that it was a part of her inheritance. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. All the rest is humbug and delicacy.
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