And you see, I don’t turn my back, and I am looking at you and thinking about you from top to toe. Shall we sit outside and drink a petit verre of something to give us an appetite while dinner is being prepared?” “Certainly not,” she answered. A woman hard to read, who seemed to delight in keeping locked up behind that fascinating rigidity of feature the intense sensibility which had been revealed to him, her master, only in occasional and rare moments of enthusiasm. He talked with his manner gentle and kindly. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth.
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