He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. “If I sit here,” he said, standing up before her abruptly, “I shall have to shout. “I think that I know very well what I am saying,” she answered. I went at last when I had barely a shilling in my purse to a dramatic agent. ” “Well?” “I went from Anna’s flat to Nigel Ennison’s rooms. But we get over it. "Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses.
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