CHAPTER VIII. The worst was over now. “To my chagrin, I have. For Ruth grew lovelier as the days went on. ” “But your dinner!” she protested. Let us stay the night here. So many distresses— so many joys coming at the same time are too much for me. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. There he paused again, half turning his back and pretending to look for someone among the soldiers on the benches. You know—I worship you.
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