None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing. And at the thought of that other lover—he was convinced that that beloved person was a lover, and she found herself unable to say a word to explain to him that this other person, the person she loved, did not even know of her love—Ramage grew angry and savage once more, and returned suddenly to gibe and insult. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. Still, my tutor was a highly educated scholar—my father.
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