Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. She had changed into dungarees herself and kept her hair as it was. At the door to the kitchen, he called out, ‘Pottiswick!’ The old man came out, shoving his chin in the air and glaring. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. “Oh, but life is difficult!” she groaned. “You can’t imagine,” Sydney exclaimed, “that the people downstairs will be such drivelling asses as to believe piffle like that. “They never seem so at first!” he said.
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