” “One has theories,” said Ann Veronica, radiantly. "One-and-twenty, ah!" repeated Gay. His throat filled; he wanted to weep. ‘I assure you it suits her as Mary would not. He wondered if, after all, McClintock wasn't nearest the truth, that Ruth was one of those unfortunate yet innocent women who make havoc with the hearts of men. It had been her father’s surname, and it had sounded far more innocuous and American than Iovelli. His eyes were set too close together. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred.
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