But as the mystery which surrounded Ruth fell away that which enveloped her father thickened. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. Hilary could not have suggested such a thing. “Mr. She addressed him in a tone of puzzlement. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. ” “I’ve never heard Tristan and Isolde. The evil in his eyes towards her was explosive.
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