The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. And now you know. Gerald instantly took her arm and guided her back to her chair. She wondered abjectly whether he intended to rape her before she was dead. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. Torment! And so Ruth discovered him. Which, if we are not all of us very careful indeed, will be stolen from Miss Charvill. Or, better still, put all my clothes in the trunk.
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