CHAPTER VIII. What had happened to it? She had broken it, certainly. He sounds to me like a soldier of fortune. "I think you're all bewitched," she cried. No further responsibility whatever. He saw that his words were falling upon dull ears. Perhaps Ramage was the more astonished. He flung Ruth aside, careless whether she fell or not. There was a very white-faced youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon. A man’s children nowadays are not his own.
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