It is her duty to tell me, and I would not have her think that I had been trying to work upon your sympathies to learn her secrets. I didn't think. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. “I certainly knew him no better than you. Her hair had begun to grow back, it now swept to her shoulders. When the hero finally did appear, Ruth became filled with gentle self-mockery. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet.
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