The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came. Ruth, standing by, heard his true laughter for the first time. “Dyed!” “And your figure?” “One’s corsetière arranges that. Lord help him! he's the very image of his father.
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