"Allow him that small grace," cried Wood. "Fire! That was what drew me to you in the beginning. " "For a bit of kindness?" Ruth was plainly bewildered. I'm sorry. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. A dozen shynesses and intellectual barriers were being outflanked or broken down in her mind. I am so amazed to see you here. The walls are too high, and the windows too stoutly barricaded in this quarter, to admit such a supposition. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. “I don’t know.
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