Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. Then, presto! What a dreary lot they are when the revellers lay aside the motley! Ruth had come from a far South Sea isle. “Didn’t you just get over an ear infection not two weeks ago? You’re asking for another one.
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