“You Mr. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. Wood was not particularly fortunate in his own matrimonial connections. She slipped it calmly into her pocket. Beck, it smells wonderful in here. It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. Her heart's in the right place, at all events; and, since that's the case, the rest may perhaps come round, —that is, if she gets through her present illness. . ‘Exactement. Our quarrel's quite over. For I still love her mother.
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