The sing-song girl, seeing Ruth, extended her hands and began to chatter rapidly. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. Whatever happened she need never return to that possibility. Now there is none. He propped himself up on one arm, kissing her passionately. "He who stands on the verge of the grave, as I do, should never be unprepared. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other.
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