She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. I tell you that I love you, Anna, and I believe that you love me.
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