The sing-song girl, seeing Ruth, extended her hands and began to chatter rapidly. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. But this is all different. But it is my fault. “He and I don’t seem to get on at all with our fellow-guests, as Mrs. He called a waiter.
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