He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. A wife formed part of his scheme of life, for several years he had been secretly but assiduously looking for her. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter. What would happen when next morning she returned to Morningside Park? He couldn’t turn her out of doors. ‘Sit down, won’t you?’ He crossed back to Roding and said low-voiced. One glance swept across the place and it was immediately apparent that Pottiswick had not, this time, been mistaken. The clanking of chains, the grating of locks, and the rumbling of bolts must have been music in Jonathan's ears, so much pains did he take to subject himself to such sounds. " "That's the way it goes. ” Ann Veronica closed the door quite softly and stood still.
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