"Please hurry the ammonia;" and Ruth turned away abruptly. Fortescue raised his eyebrows and assumed a light-comedy expression. “Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time. How did you get into this house?’ He shrugged. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes.
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