Perhaps you will meet him someday. Soldiers were stationed at different points of the street to keep off the mob, and others were riding backwards and forwards to maintain an open space for the passage of the procession. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account.
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