Promise me one thing before I leave you. Very good. ‘That’s right, you bone idle do-nothings. " Ruth repeated the word, not in the effect of a query, but ruminantly. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed.
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