His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. The couple reappeared from behind the curtains, both visibly shaken. Sometimes she missed her cue and nodded affirmatively when the gesture should have been the reverse; and Prudence would send her a sharp glance of disapproval. "Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely. This smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid look. “Ferringhall, were you or were you not dining last night at a certain restaurant in the Boulevard des Italiennes with—la petite Pellissier?” Now indeed Sir John was moved. He only laughed his defiance.
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