She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be some particularly fantastic sort of dream. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. I cannot explain beyond that. The church was crowded to excess by the numbers eager to witness the ceremony; and as soon as it was over the wedded pair were followed to the carriage, and the loudest benedictions uttered for their happiness. Besides, those things are deadly.
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