He handed Ruth a letter. “There isn’t any way you could be worse than John. She washed her face with unwonted elaboration before she went to bed. "He hears me not! he's gone!" she added, as the door was opened and shut with violence; "something tells me I shall never see him again!" When her father, a moment afterwards, issued from the parlour to ascertain the cause of the noise, he found her seated on the stairs, in an agony of grief. But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine.
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