There was still the pity of understanding in Ruth's eyes. And yet, as she rose slowly to her feet and stood looking at him with outstretched hands, a strange mixture of expressions shining in her wonderful eyes, he realized in some measure the strength of her determination, felt the utter impotence of anything which he could say to her. Her eyes were soft and grave, and there was the faintest of smiles upon her resolute lips. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. Sheppard, with startling eagerness. " "There is a great art in it, if you did," quoth he.
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