Section 3. White is proud of her drawing-room evenings. Almost worthy of your own fertile imagination. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. Then, presto! What a dreary lot they are when the revellers lay aside the motley! Ruth had come from a far South Sea isle. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find.
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