It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. 266 She peered up at him. ” She said wistfully. “I wrote it for you. ” She cried once they were in the great room. ‘I knew it. He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. His firmness never deserted him till his old master, Mr. " "'Sblood!" exclaimed Wild, uneasily. “I am getting to watch all women.
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