Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. She could not say a word, much less move. That boy—blind as a bat! Why, he hadn't seen the Woman until to-night! From the first chord of the Grieg concerto to the finale of the Chopin ballade, Ruth had sat tensely on the edge of her chair. “I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. ‘Me, I do not need the help of anyone. Old Lancashire families both. You disgust me.
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