She could tell that he was leering at her. They laughed and talked and stared about them. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. "Where did you find it!" asked Wood. But it's confounded inconvenient. Then Capes flittered to the hearthrug and poked the fire, stood up, and turned about. The place pulsed with music too loud to converse above.
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