She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. You sing better than Annabel ever did, you have even a better style. Gentlemen! a glass of brandy will be no bad finish to our meal. “You will have to eat soon,” he said cryptically. He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. As she averted her gaze, a terrible idea crossed her.
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