“Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. But he was always forcing her to say and do such unexpectedly conclusive things. “I must read him when I come out. “I’ve been thinking—all the afternoon. I must say what I have to say!” “But not now—not here. His large, coarse lips drew wider apart.
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