Her father, her own father! She remembered now a verse from the Psalms her father had always been quoting; but now she recited it with perfect understanding. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries. What happened? Did you turn me?” “Yes, my love. After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment—a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else. .
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