’ A panel slid open and she stepped into the relative light of the little dressingroom, Kimble close behind her. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. You hurt the child. His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears. Find that boy. As soon as she noticed the stranger, she honoured him with an extremely impudent stare, and scarcely endeavoured to disguise the admiration with which his good looks impressed her.
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