He handed Ruth a letter. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. G. I have written, called—of what avail is anything—against that look. When the bell rang, she lagged behind as was her habit. “I am afraid,” he said gravely, “that your sister has been a little indiscreet. She fought the inclination for a while, then surrendered. Now the baby’s bright May eyes peered up at her intently. There was a second co-respondent. So soft.
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