Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. She remembered him as a dull figure, a big man with a belly that was already showing fat under his fine scarlet clothes. " "There isn't an angel in heaven, Ruth, purer or sweeter than you are. ” “I hope that you may,” Anna answered enigmatically. “How old are you?\" He looked at her engagingly. "He is," replied a portly personage, arrayed in a gorgeous yellow brocade dressing-gown, lined with cherry-coloured satin, and having a crimson velvet cap, surmounted by a gold tassel, on his head. It was obvious that he had waited for her.
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