I have no right to love you. I believe I’m the only sane member of the family left. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. "A thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when certain silence might be so cheaply procured. “I have been bearing this—for your sake. It's mighty lonesome down there for a man bred to cities. And it is your own fault that your husband dallies with me. It had a tiny flaw, most bizarre.
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