” “What do you mean—by too late?” he demanded. Her moods were many and always striking. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. She felt terrible lying to him. ‘Well, nothing,’ uttered her betrothed crossly, before Gerald could answer. She laughed a little contemptuously. She seemed just as stiff and shy as a girl ought to be, Lady Palsworthy thought, neither garrulous nor unready, and free from nearly all the heavy aggressiveness, the overgrown, overblown quality, the egotism and want of consideration of the typical modern girl. "What I said about natural children doesn't apply to you. ” He digested her statement as part threat and part promise.
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