” Ennison looked steadily at the cigarette which he was tapping on his forefinger. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. “I am glad,” she told herself, “I came. Already he was dramatizing Ruth, involving her, now in some pearl thieving adventure, now in some impossible tale of a white goddess. “Do you want some of mine?” “Yes. Her features were still slightly marked by the disorder alluded to in the description of her as a child,—but that was the only drawback to her beauty.
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