She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. He could not kiss Ruth because the acquired conscience—struggling on its way to limbo—made the idea repellant. “I don’t think I CAN do that,” she said. His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each encounter. Sheppard looked round, and exchanged kindly glances with several of those who addressed him. That is why I called myself Anna.
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