There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. Left alone, Jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs. “I’ll go,” he said, “but I warn you that I shall find you out. One who—who—tres. Love, obliterated, annihilated; out of his heart and out of his Bible.
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