CHAPTER II. “I refuse. Why should I peep at it through smoked glass to see things that don’t affect me?” He smiled his delight at his companion. " "Poor soul!" ejaculated her son. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. Already he was dramatizing Ruth, involving her, now in some pearl thieving adventure, now in some impossible tale of a white goddess. But he was a thief, a fugitive from justice.
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