She sat very still, and his eyes rested on that ornament for a moment, and then travelled slowly to her wrist and the soft lines of her forearm. She was always the last person to exit after the crowds had stampeded, trailing slowly behind them like dust. The conflict was of short duration; for Shotbolt was no match for his athletic antagonist. Annabel shook her head. It was clear by the look on her face that she decided to leave the house immediately. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. “It is the same man, Annabel,” she said.
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