This man was apparently not sure whether he was Meysey Hill or not. Capes flashed to an understanding of her intention, sprang to his feet, and opened the door for her retreat. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder. There was nothing to be learned from her face. Stanley was inclined to think the censorship should be extended to the supply of what he styled latter-day fiction; good wholesome stories were being ousted, he said, by “vicious, corrupting stuff” that “left a bad taste in the mouth. He came to her at once, and turning, walked by her side. Love … to take her in his arms and to comfort her: and then to add to her cup of bitterness the knowledge that her husband was a thief! For himself he did not care; God could continue to grind and pulverize him; but to add another grain to the evil he had already wrought upon Ruth was unthinkable. "To—to—no matter what," returned the widow distractedly. “I don’t see why I should take it secondhand. So far as I'm concerned, nothing could please me more.
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