CHAPTER XXIII Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the lagoon. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. Drowning, her brain dizzy, Melusine clung to the source of the flooding warmth, her hands, no longer forcibly held, moving without will about the firm back. She seemed bursting with the desire to talk, and watching for her opportunity.
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