” He put his hands in his pockets, his mouth puckered to a whistle, and he went to the door of the outer preparation-room and stood there, looking, save for the faintest intensification of his natural ruddiness, the embodiment of blond serenity. ‘Believe it or not, I do it for pleasure. She fell into another depression, refusing to touch Sebastian or call him husband when he demanded it. Across the blackboard the colored chalks flew like flights of variously tinted rockets as diagram after diagram flickered into being. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. " This expression was old in Ruth's ears.
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