192 Her skirt had ridden almost to her hips. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. ‘I never met a rat what wandered about the place with a lantern, I didn’t,’ grumbled the old lodgekeeper aggrievedly. “That’s exhilarating,” said Ann Veronica. Kneebone made no effort to check the unreasonable merriment of his companions, but rather seemed to encourage it. There was a pause, while the steel grey eyes sliced at her. “What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed. As though it was indelicate—it’s just a sort of shyness. " "I wish I could return the compliment, Terry. " "I wish you did have some faults, Ruth. "You don't recollect me, I presume?" premised the stranger, taking a seat.
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