He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast. " "How do you spell the last name?" He spelt it. "Thanks. ‘But you said she was looking for proof.
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