“Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. She looked at her for a moment fixedly. That ring manifestly occupied her thoughts a great deal. She bound a scarf tightly round the place where the blood seemed to be coming from. Ruth's arm trembled and her step faltered, but he was too far away in thought to be observant. She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine person unduly limited. A quarter of an hour passed. Melusine, intent on the luckless Kimble, did not care. She chastised herself for thinking of her husband and lord as being weak. It would be very hard perhaps to make you understand just how I feel about it.
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