His eyes glowed beneath the glasses and his blue buttondown shirt was reflected in the lenses. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. You are afraid—that here in London—I shall not be a success. ” She shrugged her shoulders and led him towards a small recess. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. ‘I do not steal,’ declared the lady hotly. Warm reality was now so near her she could hear it beating in her ears. Lucy slipped upstairs silently.
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