“Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. ‘Now,’ she said, in an imperious manner that so much reminded him of Melusine that he was obliged to suppress a grin, ‘I can see you properly. "Now stand before me, Poll.
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