" The spinsters had no counter-philosophy to offer; so they turned to Ruth, who had singularly and unconsciously invested herself with glamour, the glamour of adventure, which the old maids did not recognize as such because they were only tourists. ‘En tout cas, it is not up at all, but down. I made her my unwilling confederate. Wood. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. He said simply that he wanted her to live at home. She pulled her chair with a mild creak and marched towards the stair. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. Her defence ceased rapidly to be in any sense ladylike, and became vigorous and effective; a strand of black hair that had escaped its hairpins came athwart Ramage’s eyes, and then the knuckles of a small but very hardly clinched fist had thrust itself with extreme effectiveness and painfulness under his jawbone and ear. Afterwards she hunted up the article in question, and it seemed to her quite delightfully written and argued.
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