"In Heaven's name! what's all this?" cried Wood. ‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair. But pathologically, he is still on the edge. His demeanour then was sober enough to lend colour to that belief. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. Folding his arms, he placed his back against the door, and burst into a loud laugh. "I understand, Sir," replied Davies, drawing a little aside.
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