Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. Ruth loved him. Ants. Montressor’s guests. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. ” “I am very glad,” he answered, in a low tone.
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