“John, don’t!” she cried. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone. There were electric and ice plants, and a great store in which one could buy anything from jewsharps to gas-engines. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. She did not know Mr. “Thank you, Martin,” she replied graciously. How did you get into this house?’ He shrugged.
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