" "Tell him so, and have done with him, Sir Rowland," observed Jonathan coldly. Oh, it was very bad. But as the mystery which surrounded Ruth fell away that which enveloped her father thickened. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. Lee-o-no-ra. They shall hear of me no more. ‘Would you care for some refreshment? A glass of wine, perhaps?’ ‘Nothing, merci, I do not remain,’ she answered, although she did not rise. ‘Because you are a bête, and a pig, and imbecile. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent.
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