'—'It's not to be thought of,' says I, thumping the table till every glass on it jingled; 'and I know a way as'll prevent it. I'm ashamed to say that I was too much terrified to scream out—but ran and hid myself. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. " "You will never become that, Ruth.
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