“Do not look so uncomfortable, both of you,” she begged. “His dress for no man lays a snare; A man scores always, everywhere. I'll have a peep at him, if I die for it," she muttered, as she went out. She evolved a dim image of herself cooped up in a house under the benevolent shadow of Mr. Come along home, Ruth. This was David Courtlaw, whose ways, too, had never been very different from the ways of other men as regards her sex.
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