“It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be friends. Even after this woman had gone, it seemed to Ruth that the room was kindlier than it had ever been. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. God send the fellow did turn out to be a spy! Beckoning Roding on, Gerald crept down the corridor towards the source of the swishing he had heard. The Bitchster strikes again. The likeness was ridiculous.
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