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ToC The heart-piercing scream uttered by Mrs. I mean—I mean to do what I can. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. We have come to the conclusion, Brendon and I, that Mrs. I know.
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