Ruth's arm trembled and her step faltered, but he was too far away in thought to be observant. He kept his keen eyes steadily fixed on Thames, as if awaiting to be addressed. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. ‘Oh! little Vee!’ he cried, ‘little Vee!’ and put his face between his hands and sat still for a long time before he broke out again. It got on my nerves—the women I saw.
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