She let them fall and sped to the companion, where she stood for a moment, the moonlight giving her a celestial touch. He was apt to play so many games, she was afraid she might have misunderstood. “How are you?” He asked, realizing she was unnerved by the very sound of his voice. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. He was in the house with his mother. This she would not endure. That would be him. “You must remember,” she said, “that you yourself are responsible for your altered looks. "Well, you never can tell," he continued, lamely.
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