Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. “My dear man,” she exclaimed, “wasn’t that a foregone conclusion?” “You treat the matter lightly,” he continued. Keeping hold of the doorhandle, she turned slowly. Rushing towards the entrance of the well-hole, Blueskin touched the secret spring. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. “You did not wish to see him particularly this evening, then?” Anna hesitated.
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