“It seems so unfair,” she said, “to take all you offer me and give so little in return. "But be prudent, my angel. He might solve the riddle. We are very poor, but manage to squeeze a little happiness out of each day. ‘No. " The Wastrel tried to reach Ruth's lips. She began to weep in long, aching sobs. “Will you come this way,” she said, “into the drawing-room? There is no one there just now.
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