Little Anna screamed and thrashed as she was torn from Lucy’s skirts. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. ” Obediently, Lucy placed the stone upon the mausoleum. She shrugged her shoulders. She was no longer certain that she desired an Englishman, if she must judge of one in particular. It’s no half reform either. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. Ruth, standing by, heard his true laughter for the first time. \" She said, bashful.
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