Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated. His treatment of his wife is most unsatisfactory. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and he took note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time the sunshine touched her hair. Supposing that was it; at least, a solution to part of this amazing riddle? Supposing her father had made her assist him in the care of the derelicts solely to fill her with loathing and abhorrence for mankind? "Didn't you despise the men your father brought home—the beachcombers?" "No. So long as matters remain as they are, and they found me, there would be no shame for Ruth. ” He sidled toward her, but she recoiled from him, leaving him in possession of the hearth-rug. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest.
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