Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. "Utterly," reiterated Jack, gloomily,—"as regards all I hold dear. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times.
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