So Ruth took another step toward her destination, which we in our vanity call destiny. He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. The envelope might contain only a request as to what he wanted done with the manuscripts. “I don’t want you to do it, to go on talking to me. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. You could return to civilization and have a good time all the rest of your days. . ‘That rascally knave sent you to become a French nun?’ Looking positively terrified, the girl nodded dumbly. Her eyelids fluttered with recognition, and she cried out softly.
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