Her straight strawberry blonde hair was exactly Cathy’s. The Scot understood that, gently and indirectly, Ruth was asking her husband a question, opening a door if he cared to enter. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. Master and missis have been talking all day long about Jack Sheppard, and I'm dying to read his life. A loud buzz of curiosity circulated among the domestics; some of whom— especially the females—leaned forward to obtain a peep at the culprit. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river.
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