A crisis of some kind was toward. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. She looked at him curiously. ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily.
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