She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances. His statement was treated with derision. I have come thirteen thousand miles for this young fellow; I'm ready to go galloping thirteen thousand more. There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. Tell me that you are not sorry to see me again.
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