He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. He hated travelling second-class with her—indeed, he never did—but he also disliked travelling in the same train when his daughter was in an inferior class, because of the look of the thing. But he was always forcing her to say and do such unexpectedly conclusive things. The woollen-draper looked at his watch. But Ruth was his woman, and he had sworn to God to defend her. This is something above all rules. You would steal from me then the only man I ever cared a snap of the fingers about. "You know my motive well enough," answered Jonathan. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. "We're forgetting," he said.
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