His eyes closed. Wood thought them both remarkably plain, but Mr. The women’s meeting was much more charged with emotional force than the Socialists’. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. It would have been the right idea, had Ruth been other than what she was. " "Not if it will hurt her.
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