" "But I never saw anybody more alive. Already he was dramatizing Ruth, involving her, now in some pearl thieving adventure, now in some impossible tale of a white goddess. ‘Come, come, ma’am,’ he said smiling. He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. It was the grand nursery of vice. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. ” “We should go back. One chance in a thousand, and that would be the girl.
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