”
Chapter XVIII
ANNABEL AND “ALCIDE”
Lady Ferringhall lifted her eyes to the newcomer, and the greeting in them was
obviously meant for him alone. ‘I suppose you think I can’t manage it myself,’ had complained Captain
Roding sarcastically. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful
look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately
acted within its walls. A light was visible in the garret,
feebly struggling through the damp atmosphere, for the night was raw and
overcast. The life with
which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. ’ He grinned. She fluttered it with
a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven
breath behind it. Yes, of course. Ruth's
emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would
always be happy because he would always be needing her.
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