It would have been the right idea, had Ruth been other than what she was. She smiled and started for the stairs without reply. I was in Lancashire, at our family seat, at the time you mention. “There isn’t any way you could be worse than John. Suppose our proper place is a shrine. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. ‘Lord,’ he uttered, glancing about with a disparaging eye. But what can we do? Here am I, fixed to respectability and this laboratory; you’re living at home. The likelihood is that I shan’t see the wench again.
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