Anna sat with the face of a Sphinx— waiting. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. Until at last I persuaded him to go to bed. The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master. Or, better still, put all my clothes in the trunk. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. .
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