“And how did you find us here?” “I called at Montague Street a few minutes after you had left. A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. ’ ‘Success?’ Her eyes narrowed. ’ ‘Dieu du ciel,’ came from the lady in a furious tone, before the astonished Roding could respond. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—“B-rr-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands. A certain irritation crept into his manner as he did so.
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