“Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. The couple reappeared from behind the curtains, both visibly shaken. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. I’m sorry. He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. . ’ He added, as alarm spread over the lad’s face, ‘Don’t concern yourself. Love lives on a higher plane.
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