“It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. Spurlock has gone. Wood in their favour. Why would your mother be so impatient?” Lucy speculated. “Turned out to be an impostor, too. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. In a little while he and she were talking quite easily and agreeably. Gosse sagged under the impact, knocking over the card table, and falling to sit, half stunned, the discharged pistol flying from his slackened grasp. She felt terrible lying to him. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. Better even than these. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened.
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