Thames returned no answer. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. But there was, it insisted, no mobility in his face, no movement, nothing about him that warmed. ’ Chapter Six Creeping along the dark narrow passage, with lantern held well ahead to keep her step steady on the uneven stones—and to warn her of the advent of rats— Melusine kept her long petticoats fastidiously clear of the dirt with an efficient hand, a habit she had learned in the convent. That was the glorious if bewildering truth. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. Probably she was married years ago and is now merely on the way to her husband's house. Still, one never could tell.
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