"Is this her work?" "It is," answered Thames. I mean that it doesn’t interest you in itself. Then he got up and left her. "You poor child!" Prudence took Ruth's hands in her own. There was a very white-faced youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon. Too much, perhaps. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. I love you more. “Lucy. White is proud of her drawing-room evenings. You've nothing to do but to take possession.
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