. “She is living there now,” she remarked. It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. "That was the lad's name," returned the stranger. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. His perseverance was amply rewarded. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. We know London, and you are a stranger here. ‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained.
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