One of those hanging moments ensued— hypnotic. He lit a cigarette and loitered about. " Gently she thrust Ruth aside. "You have forgotten your knife, Mr. His face was wreathed in smiles, his beringed hand was cordially outstretched. His hand rested heavily and cruelly upon Ruth's shoulder. If you forget your sex, jade, I must forget mine. I chose you for your strength, your cunning, your intelligence, your great beauty. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music.
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