“You love some one else?” he repeated. Gerald smiled and excused himself with the Poussaint girl, whose mouth pinched together as she threw a dagger glance at the voluptuous Madame Valade. With trembling fingers she opened the post-bag. " "Fill your glasses, gentlemen," observed Ireton, "and I'll tell you a droll thing Jack said this morning. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. Had this not been the case, he must have refused even to see his Frenchified granddaughter.
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