He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. Ruth was at that stage where the absorption of facts is great, but where the mental digestion is not quite equal to the task. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. .
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