After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. "Give it me," returned the carpenter; "all's safe. He did like her, anyhow; he was always pleased to be with her. He glanced at Miss Klegg again, and spoke quickly and furtively, with eager eyes on Ann Veronica’s face. Bête, she told herself fiercely.
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