‘I just don’t understand you, Gerald. It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. She saw herself building up a life upon that —a life restrained, kindly, beautiful, a little pathetic and altogether dignified; a life of great disciplines and suppressions and extensive reserves. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. They were very nice about it, in memory of your father. Put out your hand and bid me God-speed. When the hero finally did appear, Ruth became filled with gentle self-mockery. "Please tell me whenever I am at fault.
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