Cast off this weakness. Then, presto! What a dreary lot they are when the revellers lay aside the motley! Ruth had come from a far South Sea isle. “I think we have,” he answered, gravely, and took her in his arms, and smoothed her hair from her forehead, and very tenderly kissed her lips. “And yet you still live, Butterfly. I thank God for the beauty you love and the faults you love.
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