“You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you. The solos were revealing, sensual and moody. Those awful chairs!" After dinner the spinsters proceeded to inscribe their accustomed quota of postcards, and Ruth was left to herself. In a few seconds, the shutter flew open,—then the window,—and they were in the room. ” “It will make it. A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being.
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