Nigel Ennison, Annabel. The real Ruth was as completely hidden as though she stood behind the walls of Agra Fort. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. She was a little paler than when she had come to London, a little paler and a little thinner. Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. ” “But—” “He left her alone. John, he was between me and the door.
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