It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair. She found a little difficulty in beginning. DeSoto, seemed to notice her thoroughly. She spoke readily enough, but there was a new timidity in her manner. Grasping one of chairs about the little table, he drew it forward and sat astride it, in a fashion as insolent as it was unexpected. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. "Ruth?" he called. Let your father—if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son. Wait, though.
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