"Strange!" he continued, as if talking to himself. “H’m!” he said, regarding the wreckage with a calmer visage. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. She must be beautiful, but beauty is only the beginning. More than ever Sir John was glad that he had sat down.
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