“Don’t they look like a pair of young lovers sleeping off a tryst?” He observed. Her father had determined on a new line. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. " Ruth repeated the word, not in the effect of a query, but ruminantly. Tears flowed in rivulets down 121 her cheeks and she began to cry. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo. She crept behind the open door and pounced on him when he came out of the bathroom, knocking him onto the floor with a loud thud.
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