The eyes, too, though large and bright, and shaded by long lashes, seemed to betoken, as hazel eyes generally do in men, a faithless and uncertain disposition. The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. The streets were full of colour. The idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. “Have you any money?” “Lots,” Anna answered laconically.
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