But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. He thought rationally; that is to say, he thought clearly, as a child thinks clearly. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time. “One doesn’t want to turn the whole thing into a mere sex antagonism. I want to talk to Mr. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you.
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