" "My mind's made up," rejoined Jack, coldly,—"we part to-night. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. That boy—blind as a bat! Why, he hadn't seen the Woman until to-night! From the first chord of the Grieg concerto to the finale of the Chopin ballade, Ruth had sat tensely on the edge of her chair. “You’re not a virgin, are you?” It was as much an accusation as a question. .
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