“I shall leave the flat to you and go to a hotel. No doubt there’s some little mistake. White, I am not sure that I could afford to come to you. . But he's witty and amusing, and when reasonably drunk he can play the piano like a Paderewski. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. "That's it!" cried Wild when Trenchard concluded. But this might be merely a figurative mode of describing his customary vigilance. ‘Never fear, my love. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. But a doll that rolled its eyes and had flaxen hair! Except for the manual labour—there had been natives to fetch and carry—she and Cosette were sisters in loneliness. "I'll tell you why," he said.
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