. . ‘What a fate he finds for me. "Ruth!" She had gone to the door, aimlessly, without purpose. It—it is nothing,’ she said, although with a tremor in her voice. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. Two-and-twenty! I can’t imagine what your parents can be thinking about to let you get into these scrapes.
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