She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. We have both tried hard to develop it—you and I —and we have failed. These passers-by who touch us but lightly and are gone, leaving the eternal imprint! So long as she lived, Ruth would always remember that embrace. Remember that. "Do you think I'd take the trouble to announce him? These are persons of consequence, I tell you. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua.
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