But I do hope, Vee, I do hope—this is the end of these adventures. " Again Ruth nodded. But he didn’t marry her. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. He knew she would be there, practicing alone in 118. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. He regretted now that in his idle hours he hadn't hunted up one against the rainy day.
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