‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. This was the bitterest hour he had ever known. Gently she raised his head and withdrew the coat from under the pillow. ” “I wonder,” said Mr. Afterward, one afternoon, he hovered about her, and came and sat beside her and talked of beauty and the riddle of beauty for some time. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. “It rests with them by the nature of things. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her.
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