] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. “And what is it all about, Veronica?” he asked, with a deliberate note of irony, looking at her a little quizzically over his glasses. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness. This started a thought moving. Fortunately, ever since Wild's late murderous attack, the household has all been well armed. ” “You said you loved me – did you mean it?” He said.
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