She observed a man walking on the opposite side of the way and looking toward her. CHAPTER IX. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. I wish they would just get it over with. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. “I’m not a good woman. Think if your own mother was alive!” He paused, deeply moved. I am quite sure that I do not know you.
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