She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. Oh, yes; of Ruth herself he knew much; but the more he mulled over what he knew, the deeper grew his chagrin. " Meanwhile, the party at the table continued drinking and chatting as merrily as before. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. ” She stared before her, trying to keep back a rush of tears. ‘I do not know of whom you speak.
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