All the sombre visions she had been pressing back, fighting out of her thoughts, swarmed over the barrier and crushed her. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. I asked several shopkeepers the same question: ‘Do you know the blue-eyed maid with the curly brown hair? She has a mother who is fair with the same eyes. “I do not know you,” she said coldly. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. They conversed, or more or less she interviewed him. I would like you to believe that the decision I have arrived at—to stay away—is wholly and entirely to save you pain. "Yes, sir," said McClintock, as he sat down; "that's South Sea stuff, that yarn of yours. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently.
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