"What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. “You are my friend,” she said, “if any one is. Have you ever heard the name of Meysey Hill?” “Meysey Hill?” He repeated it after her, and she knew at once from his tone and his quick glance into her face that the name possessed some significance for him. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. " "You, Miss Enschede?"—frankly astonished that one stranger should offer succour to another. You have watched all the uncouth creations of my brain come sprawling out upon the canvas, and besides, we have been companions. There was no answer, just grunting, so she repeated the question in Latin, then in Greek, to which Rhea responded. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. ” “Go!” he said. "I have not trusted you. I’ve wanted you—always.
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