He was entranced as she walked towards him. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. Women never throw themselves into each other's arms; they calculate the distance and the damage perfectly. Five hours later she tiptoed down the hall and paused at the threshold of what they now called his study. He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon.
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