But give me till to-morrow—only till to-morrow—I may be able to part with him then. The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. Ruth could tell the doctor; she could bare many of her innermost thoughts to that kindly man; but there was an inexplicable reserve before this young man whom she still endued with the melancholy charm of Sydney Carton.
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