He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life. Spurling in alarm. It brought no coconut. But Ruth was his woman, and he had sworn to God to defend her. "God in Heaven bless you, unhappy boy!" cried. "You came hither under my protection, and you shall depart freely,—nay, more, you shall have an hour's grace. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps.
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