He succeeded so well that by the time he asked for her name once more, she fluttered her lashes as coquettishly as ever. " At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand. The Night-Cellar. Already he was dramatizing Ruth, involving her, now in some pearl thieving adventure, now in some impossible tale of a white goddess.
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