They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. Oh, it was very bad. " He offered cigars, and Ruth got up. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. ” Chapter XVIII ANNABEL AND “ALCIDE” Lady Ferringhall lifted her eyes to the newcomer, and the greeting in them was obviously meant for him alone. ‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live.
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