There was a gentle rustling of skirts. He had not proceeded far when he was alarmed by the tramp of a horse, which seemed to be rapidly approaching, and he had scarcely time to leap the hedge and conceal himself behind a tree, when a tall man, enveloped in an ample cloak, with his hat pulled over his brows, rode by at full speed. Already he was dramatizing Ruth, involving her, now in some pearl thieving adventure, now in some impossible tale of a white goddess. When she got back to her questions again in the monotonous high-road that led up the hill, she found the image of Mr. I have it on my conscience that I offended you—” “Offended me when?” “I’ve been haunted by the memory of you. Perhaps I'd better open it now. He raised her to a sitting position. And I think I will indeed blow off your imbecile head. Loneliness.
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