But we've got to cook up some kind of a story to protect her. There was something which chilled even him in the cold impassivity of her features. He liked to draw her in, and she did her best to talk. Tickle the ears of their reverences with any idle nonsense you please: but tell them nothing you care to have repeated. She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes. Oh, yes; of Ruth herself he knew much; but the more he mulled over what he knew, the deeper grew his chagrin.
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