Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. "What's the use of wasting a shot?" rejoined Jonathan, savagely. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. He was confounded by the presence in which he found himself.
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