Ruth could not be told now. And even she was forced to admit to herself that this last resource of hers was a slender reed on which to lean. He found his youngest daughter intrusive in his thoughts all through the morning, and still more so in the afternoon. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries. His face was that of a quick, intelligent-looking boy, with fine hazel eyes, and a clear olive complexion. “Very good,” he said. He was suddenly calm. The rainstorm, short-lived, began to subside.
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