It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. “I had a faint idea once that things were as you say they are, but the affair of the ring—of the unexpected ring—puzzled me. . Lightheaded, she threw up in the courtyard of the Palazzo as servants crowded her in alarm. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. "Curiosity, I suppose," returned Jack, carelessly. Arrived at Westbourne-Green—then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse—he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from KensallGreen. " "You don't remember your mother?" "Oh, no; she died when I was very little. "I did not know … that it was … like that!" She stepped back; but as his hands fell she caught and held them tightly.
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