Ruth was something to study for future copy; she was almost unbelievable. “Damned Rascal!” he said. His grey eyes burned under his shaggy eyebrows. He had shaved his side-whiskers and come over in flannels, but he was still indisputably the same person who had attended Ann Veronica for the measles and when she swallowed the fish-bone. Naturally you shout yourself hoarse when she has finished, and feel jolly pleased with yourself. Once more he was the searcher.
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