” He said. Wood did think of it, and groaned aloud. You care for me just a little, I know. “I find it very hard to write this letter. His hand rested heavily and cruelly upon Ruth's shoulder. Why should I?” “At last,” he murmured, “at last I have found you. God is a jealous God, and He turned upon me relentlessly. The odds were astounding and yet he had it bad.
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