When the hero finally did appear, Ruth became filled with gentle self-mockery. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. One swift glance about the room, and a sensation of grim foreboding swept through him. Here are the jade carvers. One puts gloves on one’s greedy fingers. She would never forget the agony of that first meal in the great dining room. Or, if you must take off my clothes, don't dash cold water on my head. Good-looking girl. "Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. ” “I mean—” “I behaved like an idiot, that’s all.
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