In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. Ruth was not a woman; she was a phenomenon. “But I must, I will,” he answered fiercely. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English. “I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. She roves the blue fields of the North, with the clean North Wind on her lips and her blonde head jewelled with frost— mocking valour and hardihood! Out of the West she comes, riding the great ships and the endless steel ways that encompass the earth, and smoke comes with her and the glare of furnace fires—commerce! From the East she brings strange words upon her tongue and strange raiment upon her shoulders and the perfume of myrrh—antiquity! But oh! when she springs from the South, her rosy feet trailing the lotus, ripe lequats wreathing her head, in one hand the bright torch of danger and in the other the golden apples of love, with her eyes full of sapphires and her mouth full of pearls! "With her eyes full of sapphires and her mouth full of pearls. ” Courtlaw suddenly interposed.
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