He wore a silk hat a little tilted, and a morning coat buttoned round a tight, contained figure; and a white slip gave a finish to his costume and endorsed the quiet distinction of his tie. It was supposed he was drowned in crossing the river, as his body had never been found. Gosse backed, not even attempting to parry so unorthodox a use of the foil. We stepped from the Embassy into the motor—and oh! I thought that he was dead. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else. The life of a girl presented itself to her as something happy and heedless and unthinking, yet really guided and controlled by others, and going on amidst unsuspected screens and concealments. He sat back in an easy chair with a hand upon each of the elbows, and looked steadfastly into the fire.
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