This was the first young man who had drawn from her something more than speculative interest. I don’t feel it. His figure was slight, but well-built; and, in stature he did not exceed five feet four. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. Clear water gave away to gray as she waded deeper, feeling her slippers on rock. Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she had acquired. “It’s because I mean to send it back altogether,” she said. Depend upon it, there is a place for you—waiting.
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