It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. “That sounds quite absurd,” she answered. You lack only that mechanical knack of expression which is the least important part of an artist’s equipment, but which remains a tedious and absolute necessity. ‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue. She struggled fiercely not to give way. The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. A faint anticipation of triumph showed in his manner and a subdued excitement. "Go to lunch," he ordered Ruth. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility.
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