" The feminine vanities in Ruth were quiescent; nothing had ever occurred in her life to tingle them into action. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. “Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. . ’ ‘About me?’ The lady’s lashes fluttered and her fan came up. . “My mind is full of confused stuff,” he said at length.
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