“I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. “I have nothing to say to you. But what he could do or might do she could not imagine. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. At the thought of the major, her tears redoubled and she was obliged to rip off a piece from the remnants of her already maltreated underpetticoats with which to blow her nose and soak the damp from her cheeks. "You want him?" "Please!" said Ruth. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon.
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