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. " "Well, well—wait awhile," returned Quilt; "his lordship won't forget you. " But as no answer was returned, he trust his arm up to the shoulder into the hole, and with some little difficulty and exertion of strength, drew forth Thames Darrell. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. "And now," he continued, sternly, "was it your master who has just ridden by?" "No," answered Quilt, sullenly. Time after time he reminded her of how powerless she would be without him, how unkind the world was towards single women. Lucy tried not to notice the starched smell, overpowering and powdery.
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