F. ] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. ” The dinner was admirable as a dinner; nothing went wrong, from the golden and excellent clear soup to the delightful iced marrons and cream; and Miss Stanley’s praises died away to an appreciative acquiescence. There was, in fact, only one clear thought in his fevered brain: he had reached the hotel without falling down. Cheveney was another Paris friend, was he?” she asked.
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