Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. To be sure, Ruth had dimly been aware of this; but now for the first time she was made painfully conscious of it. Nothing could have been farther from Melusine’s mind. She would have been amazed if John was even aware of any one of the incidents. There was—a service. There you are! Girl spoilt for life. Ruth drank in these intellectual controversies, storing away facts.
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