About her, as she had gone day by day to and from the Tredgold College, she had seen and not seen many an incidental aspect of those sides of life about which girls are expected to know nothing, aspects that were extraordinarily relevant to her own position and outlook on the world, and yet by convention ineffably remote. "How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. Because of the thought of love and companionship? No. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. ‘I trust you were not altogether disgusted when I kissed you.
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