It was a great relief to arrive at last at that pause when she could say to her aunt, “Now, dear?” and rise and hold back the curtain through the archway. ‘Why, what have I said?’ ‘You said to me my name. I was sure you could not have the heart to slay a child—an innocent child. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. Please to release me.
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