But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. “But Sir John?” he exclaimed. A cup of lies. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. But that was all over. Sir John felt hot and furious. The expression pervading the countenance of the one was vulgarity; of the other, that which is rarely found, except in persons of high birth. "Why does she weep?" Ruth wanted to know.
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