She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. " "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss. He wished he had the time to solve this riddle, for it was a riddle, and four-square besides. ‘Now let’s have it. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do.
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