So Ruth took another step toward her destination, which we in our vanity call destiny. I’m ashamed to confess it, but I didn’t want the charge of you—a too close reminder of my own lost babe. Her lips came together with an expression between contentment and the faintest shadow of a smile, her manner was one of quiet reserve, and behind this mask she was wildly discontented and eager for freedom and life. ‘To go to these Charvill, it was not in my plot. Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally.
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