His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. He's got the gift of the gab. (What was the name he had given her that day?) He was walking beside the chair upon which appeared to be a bundle of colours. " "None whatever," rejoined Wild. Even after this woman had gone, it seemed to Ruth that the room was kindlier than it had ever been.
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