And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast. All that I regret are the wasted years, and I am not sure that I regret them. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly. It fits your style. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. Presently he became filled with astonishment over the singular fact that Ruth was eluding him in fancy as well as in reality. One of the shutters was a trifle damaged, letting in added light. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. You knew me in Paris. This one too she read.
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