She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. She had never expected John capable of saying such things, of thinking such macabre ideas. But Miss Miniver was highly unsatisfactory. She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. He stole his chance and thrust his hand towards hers. For what indeed does she do? A simple song, no gesture, no acting, nothing. The customary gold band was missing; but a soft gold Chinese ring Spurlock had picked up in Singapore—the characters representing good luck and prosperity—was slipped over Ruth's third finger. Wood's boat, impelled alike by oar and tide, shot past the mark at which it aimed; and before it could be again brought about, the struggle had terminated. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts.
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