Just as he was about to drain it, he encountered the basilisk glance of Jonathan Wild, and paused. The whole place had come to life, the magic seeped out of the walls. He wondered if, after all, McClintock wasn't nearest the truth, that Ruth was one of those unfortunate yet innocent women who make havoc with the hearts of men. She made a curious movement toward her niece, then suddenly, convulsively, she dabbed down something lumpy on the table and turned to follow her brother. As he pocketed it, her open palm reached out and slapped his cheek. A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. “I am going,” she said grimly, with three hairpins in her mouth. “In a sense—yes. Wood was an old friend of mine—and I recollect seeing Jack when he was bound 'prentice to him. She had delicate oval features, light, laughing blue eyes, a pretty nez retroussé, (why have we not the term, since we have the best specimens of the feature?) teeth of pearly whiteness, and a brilliant complexion, set off by rich auburn hair, a very white neck and shoulders,—the latter, perhaps, a trifle too much exposed.
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