" "Thank God for that!" cried Wood, heartily. The impassivity of her features changed at last. Her glasses moved quickly as her glance travelled from face to face. I don't know; I really don't know," she found herself repeating. Now, however, as Gerald watched them, their heads were together and they were murmuring in French. \" She was surprised that he had noticed her existence as early as her arrival at the Beck house. Well, I'll take myself off. . And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. " "Except me, dear," insinuated Edgeworth Bess.
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