There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. "This must be prevented," he added to himself. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love.
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