"You are Ruth?" "Yes," said Ruth, stirred by anger and bitterness and astonishment. There was a little pain, but it wasn’t anything. "Your sympathy is being wasted. “Well?” he asked her tersely. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. The watermen, who manned the larger wherry, immediately shipped their oars, grappled with the drifting skiff, and held it fast. I get your side all right. " "Well," replied her son; "and you spurn the proposal.
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