The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. Maybe it’s his loss. “No!” she exclaimed. ” “It is most unlikely that I shall be able to do so,” Anna answered. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. “I would have given up anything to see you your old self again—as you are this evening.
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