He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. “About my sister,” she repeated slowly. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. To make Ruth pay for it! He wanted to get away, into some immense echoless tract where he could give vent to this wild laughter which tore at his vitals. “He looks as though he did, at any rate. “Heavens, look at the time!” she exclaimed. To love in such a way, it is excessively selfish. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. . “Then you—you will?” A long pause. A slight cough uttered by Jonathan at the moment awakened the echoes of the place, and was returned in hollow reverberations. ” “It is,” he replied, “the one humiliation of my life. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. When he awoke, it was late in the day; but though he heard voices outside, and now and then caught a glimpse of a face peeping at him through the iron grating over the door, no one entered the prison, or held any communication with him.
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