"I'm almost afraid to state it," faltered the other; "but, may I ask whether Mr. "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. At least, he would always be able to take care of Ruth. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. No; I’m going to stick to the rules. Why should WE hoard? We aren’t going out presently, like Japanese lanterns in a gale.
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