‘Lord,’ Gerald uttered, his inexplicable annoyance evaporating. Presently he became filled with astonishment over the singular fact that Ruth was eluding him in fancy as well as in reality. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. Wood, in equal trepidation. McClintock sent his yacht over for us this morning. Their poor hands!” “I know,” said Mr. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words.
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