When she came in after dinner that night, Ruth was no longer an interesting phenomenon, something figuratively to tear apart and investigate: she was talismanic. "You poor child!" said Prudence. ‘Oh, Lord,’ muttered Gerald, going instantly to her aid. , and go home before you have to. He won’t have menservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is only fit for a museum—where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. It was surely odd that her thought should pick up that picture and recast it so vividly.
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