She felt that Ann Veronica had duped her in that dream, and now that she had come up to London she might as well speak her mind. He would repeat them innumerable times, and patiently Ruth would repeat her answers. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. His voice had broken. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation.
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