Gerald watched its approach with vague interest, which quickened when he saw that it was drawing up outside the very house out of which he had just stepped. It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair. When she came in after dinner that night, Ruth was no longer an interesting phenomenon, something figuratively to tear apart and investigate: she was talismanic. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. He doesn't resemble you at all. " "Sir Rowland Trenchard!" echoed Jack, in amazement.
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