She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. It was only a few months ago that I told you you must come to London, and you only laughed at me. “I love some one else. " "And what might that be?" "Will McClintock take us both?" "You took that chance. Only I just want him. “Thank you both for treating me for all the world like I was your child. Set yourself to find it out, if you will—but if you do, never dare to call yourself my friend again. Could it be him you mean?" "No.
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