Ruth obeyed, not willingly, but because there was something hypnotic in the authoritative tone. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. There was a murmur or two among the watchers on the bench, but no one ventured to intervene again. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. What was his problem, she thought to herself. But somehow he could not bring any of these affairs to an orderly end. “But, you see, appearances are very much against me.
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