" At luncheon, preoccupied in thought, Spurlock did not notice the pallor on Ruth's cheeks or the hunted look in her eyes. But here was new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved to and fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart. ‘So Leonardo has taught me. She gave her lips to his without resistance. I wonder whether you would mind, Lady Ferringhall,” he went on, with a sudden glance at her, “if I tell you that you yourself remind me a great deal more of what she was like then, except of course that your complexion and colouring are altogether different. Don’t take revenge on him because I’ve wronged you. Had romance to be banished from life?. ” Lucy blinked from the winter sunlight and reached behind herself to yank at her hood. “In a sense—yes. ‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair. ” His voice assumed an easy detached tone. A creature of convenience, she could have cared less if her children were carried away by drunkards on the street. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son.
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