Then he hovered undecidedly for some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue. . “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. Ruth met him in the hall as he was following his family into the dining room.
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