" The Wastrel tried to reach Ruth's lips. The chair is in the veranda. But there is something in your voice that makes me distrust you. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. There's a feather in your cap! No house-breaker was ever so highly honoured before. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child.
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