” He nodded. "Forgive—forgive me!" "I have nothing to forgive," replied Mrs. Books! Aren't they wonderful?" The blind alley of life stretching out before her, with its secret doorways and hidden menaces; and she was unconcerned. The real Ruth was as completely hidden as though she stood behind the walls of Agra Fort. He sent me home. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams.
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