How little he knew about Ruth—the background from which she had sprung! He knew that her father was a missioner, that her mother was dead, that she had been born on this island, and that, at the time of his collapse, she had been on the way to an aunt in the States. He became primitive, literal in his conception; the ramifications were, for the nonce, fairly relegated to limbo. "I hear you plotting with your wicked associates," cried Mrs. “To think that you were going to do it—and never said a word! You are a little thin, but except for that you look—you look better than ever. We’ll have some buttered toast. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own.
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