Then he threw the letter at me. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. “The thing I feel most disposed to say, Miss Stanley,” he began at last, “is that this is very sudden. All at once she realised that Kimble had halted, leaning heavily against the wall. ‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’ ‘He had better,’ said Lucilla. “I wonder!” said Miss Stanley. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. “You let him touch you!” John whispered back. Though the starling was more than two feet above the level of the water, he alighted with his little charge—which he had never for an instant quitted—in safety upon it.
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