She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. The candle was shaking in his hand as Ruth appeared in the doorway. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards.
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