She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn. “Well anyhow—I don’t see the force of your objection, you know. He will have it that I’ve taken leave of my senses. "'Sdeath! do you trifle with me, sirrah?" cried Rowland fiercely. He stood by her side, and he suffered her hands to rest in his. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. Wood, delighted at the idea. Her heart full of dread, she dragged on it. He hesitated. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror.
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