" "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. He had hurt her. " "It's mine, I'll be sworn," rejoined Wood. He seemed resigned but cheerful, and held frequent and serious discourses with the ordinary, who felt satisfied of his sincere penitence. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. . She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. He will let you live if it pleases him. It was just a shabby, stupid, furtive business that began between us.
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