" "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. As he lay on his back, he fancied himself gradually slipping off the platform. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. He’s waiting. So here is your chance, Mademoiselle Charvill. Capes stood side by side upon an old Persian carpet that did duty as a hearthrug in the dining-room of their flat and surveyed a shining dinner-table set for four people, lit by skilfully-shaded electric lights, brightened by frequent gleams of silver, and carefully and simply adorned with sweet-pea blossom. . Whenever you grow impatient with her, remember the folly of her father.
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