I'm no mollycoddle. McClintock wrote me about you; but all I needed was the sight of your face as it was a moment gone. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils.
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