Can't I make you see?" "But I'm telling you Ruth loves you. . ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. “Are you going on again this winter with that scientific work of yours? It’s an instance of heredity, I suppose. He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. It was very pretty and very dainty while it lasted, but we played it with our eyes open, and we perfectly understood the game—both of us.
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