He thought it best to let the matter drop. “Let me get you some water, Annabel. ” “Well, perhaps it is a bit depressing. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. He was yellow and coarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth and wagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one of these disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it.
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