"Plague on't!" added he: "I never meant to take your babby from you. Her voice shook, her eyes were very soft and melting. “Your father is dead too, I believe,” he continued, “and your mother. But I know very well that that word will never be spoken. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears.
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