She began to miss him when he was gone during the day and cherish the quiet times he spent only with her. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do. There's a man dying—Captain Darrell. Her attenuated arms were crossed upon her breast; and her black brows and eyelashes contrasted fearfully with the livid whiteness of her skin. These were so outside her experience that she found it possible to thrust them almost out of sight by saying they would be “all right” in confident tones to herself. She gazed with a quiet detachment toward the window and the Oxford Street traffic, and in her heart she was busy kicking this man to death.
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