Kneebone smiled assent. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts. "You," answered Jack, abruptly. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances. With a cry of distress, she dropped the pistol and flew after him, racing past him to the door.
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