She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. “Come to my rooms and have a drink. And we won’t make it so. ” But the ring, and her aunt’s triumphant eye, and a note of approval in her father’s manner, and a novel disposition in him to praise Manning in a just, impartial voice had soon placed very definite qualifications upon that covenanted secrecy. However, if I've lost one servant, I've gained another, that's one comfort. Presently he became filled with astonishment over the singular fact that Ruth was eluding him in fancy as well as in reality. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. You have to come over to my house.
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