I don’t think that the rest of the people here like us very well, do they, Arthur, so we’re obliged to be friends. “I will tell you all that I know,” Anna said. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. But ere the words could find utterance, her maternal tenderness overcame her indignation; and, sinking upon her knees, she extended her arms over her child. “My dear,” she began, with an affectionate hand on Ann Veronica’s shoulder, “I do SO wish you would realize how it grieves your father. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. Don't you understand? Back among your own again, and only a few of us the wiser.
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