Her features were still slightly marked by the disorder alluded to in the description of her as a child,—but that was the only drawback to her beauty. Then suddenly the curtain would fall. Suddenly she thrust her head out of the window. "What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. He returned her to her door at a decent hour, well before 10:00. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently.
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