Ruth shivered; she was cold. Wild is incapable of such baseness. “Annabel,” she said brusquely. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. ‘I have first some affairs to finish. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. Her long arms handled the sword with a memorized ease and grace. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. The chamber, into which he stole, like all carpenters' workshops, was crowded with the implements and materials of that ancient and honourable art. A little Madeira seemed to recover her enough to resume the discussion.
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