There is Mr. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. She also knew that he was the type who would not make a single physical overture until she pushed the correct buttons. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. Then the distant relationship to Miss Stanley gave them a slight but pleasant sense of proprietorship in the girl. I must tell somebody—and you would understand. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. It would have been the right idea, had Ruth been other than what she was. How can you protect me? Moreover, it is stealing that you have done, and therefore—’ ‘Don’t tell me you expect me to arrest myself again. She was crushed with a sense of her own terrible impotency. “Where would you like to go? Are you hungry?” “No.
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