He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. The eminent painter had handsome, expressive features, an aquiline nose, and a good deal of dignity in his manner. He had become an extremely handsome man, his hair having darkened and his shoulders having realized their full size. Only a book detective could dope this out. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. But she did not talk readily, and in order to say something she plunged a little, and felt she plunged. Jove, he didn’t take to it kindly, I can tell you. Mr. ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. " "Do not delay," cried Thames.
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