"You are Ruth?" "Yes," said Ruth, stirred by anger and bitterness and astonishment. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. “It was unpleasant while it lasted, but it is over —and my toasted scones are delicious.
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