The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. She could not resist enduing persons she met with the noble attributes of the fictional characters. Her father was right: Ruth must never know. ” She took the pocket-book and looked up at him with a little impulsive movement. " "This comes of fine feelings!" muttered Jonathan, contemptuously. He saw it in book-covers, on the stage. He pressed the bloody wrist into her mouth, and she though she could not feel it or 72 control it, she knew she was being made to swallow. “I will make of the days and weeks one long morning, but remember the afternoon must come.
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