But when Ruth's hand fell gently upon his bony head, he knew that no one in this house would ever offer him a kick. CHAPTER XVI. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. How plainly he could see the patch of garden in the summer sunshine and the white hollyhocks nodding above the picket fence! ***** Ruth sat waiting for the half hour, subconsciously. "I have one inquiry more to make of you, Sir," said the stranger, as soon as he had conquered his displeasure, "and I will then trouble you no further. ’ ‘Eh?’ Gerald grinned at Hilary’s blank expression, and was gratified when the girl turned a brilliant smile upon himself.
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