“NOW!” said Ann Veronica. We’re hedged about with discretions— and all this furniture—and successes! We are successful at last! Successful! But the mountains, dear! We won’t forget the mountains, dear, ever. At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. Peg after peg had gone down his blistered throat, but never had a smile touched his lips, never had his gaze roved inquisitively. I hear her coming. But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account.
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