"You open it, Ruth. It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. It has been already intimated that Jack had an excessive passion for finery; and it might have been added, that the chief part of his ill-gotten gains was devoted to the embellishment of his person. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other.
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