The work of plunder over, that of destruction commenced. He seemed years younger, and the arrangement of his tie and hair were almost rakish. She drew in a deep breath of the sweet mountain air. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. "And you have seen … drunken men?" Prudence's tones were full of suppressed horror. We'll get this chap on his feet if only to learn what the trouble is. A dozen books lay upon the counterpane. Her father was right: Ruth must never know. I'm almost sorry your suspicions are unfounded, if your father in any way resembled you, my youngster.
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