"I don't know what his idea was. "You are alone?" said one of the spinsters—Prudence Jedson. “This is mere nonsense, mere tongue-tied fear!” she said. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love.
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