He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again. ’ ‘I know,’ he said, smiling. Once he chuckled aloud. Every house-top, every window, every wall, every projection, had its occupants. A piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. They cleaned up the mess as best they could and she went home with him docilely. . To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. ‘But this is altogether a chance of the luckiest. “You cannot say that you did not expect me,” he answered. And I'll answer for it, she'll never say a syllable to annoy you again. ‘You have rifled his papers.
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