Though not much passed the middle term of life, he seemed prematurely stricken with old age. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. “You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. Gerald stood quite still for a moment or two, listening intently. " The envelope contained exactly five hundred dollars. Later, at the bottom of that envelope I found a letter. ‘Pen and paper, do you have them?’ ‘Danged if I have,’ came the truculent response. “What’s that for?” He said.
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