’ Chapter Ten ‘I am come on a mission of some delicacy, ma’am,’ Gerald said calmly to the old lady. The third time she escaped she reached the inconsequent barricade of the overturned table. Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or that character, he suffered or prospered equally. Ruth had lived in a world without caresses. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. Melusine felt the calloused hand grasp around hers. “My God!” and ceased to move. She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears.
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