The gong will go at seven-thirty. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. Traps, set with peculiar cunning; she had encountered them everywhere. There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. No doubt she was wondering what he had done in Charvill’s house and what he intended now. Of course he hadn't played the game wisely.
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