There are men in the Lowndean who laugh at him—simply laugh at him. ‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. ” “I shall always be grateful to you,” he declared. ‘How did you guess?’ ‘I guessed as soon as you said this was your house. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth.
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