All the king's horses and all the king's men could not undo what was done; nor kill the strange exquisite flower that had grown up in his own lonely heart. "And who taught it you—the landlord, Joe Hind?" "No; one Blueskin, a fellow who frequents the Lion," answered Jack, with a degree of candour that astonished his master nearly as much as his confidence. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. The uncanny directness of those gray eyes, the absence of diffidence, the beauty of the face in profile (full, it seemed a little too broad to make for perfect beauty), the mellow voice that came full and free, without hesitance, all combined to mark her as the most unusual young woman he had ever met. . Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story.
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