She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness. He classified her as he seated himself. Moving to the shuttered window, Melusine dragged the heavy drapes back. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon.
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