Her hair once more was arranged with its old simplicity. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. I love the soles of your feet. His pale and boyish waist was nearly as slim as her own. Poor Ben was not so fortunate. . He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. ’ She shrugged fatalistically. He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening.
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