Hearl on HounslowHeath. Just as he had told Gerald would be the case, there was nothing of interest to hear, especially as he had met the girl in London only last night. How little he knew about Ruth—the background from which she had sprung! He knew that her father was a missioner, that her mother was dead, that she had been born on this island, and that, at the time of his collapse, she had been on the way to an aunt in the States. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase.
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