The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. Her dainty shoes were soiled with dust and there was a great tear in her skirt. “I repeat, gentlemen,” he said, in an ominously low tone, “what of it?” Drummond shrugged his shoulders. “I think, perhaps if you will excuse me, that we will defer the luncheon. He bowed awkwardly to Mrs. But when Ruth's hand fell gently upon his bony head, he knew that no one in this house would ever offer him a kick.
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