"And the Marchioness is your daughter," added Thames. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. It was clear by the look on her face that she decided to leave the house immediately.
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