He was aware of Hilary, in company with Lucilla and the comtesse’s daughter some few yards away, listening in suddenly. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. The nurse sent for him as soon as she saw that you were conscious. Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone. “I——” The door opened, and the doctor entered softly. Her cheeks were aflame. Hill, Meysey Hill. What passed between them I cannot think—I dare not.
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