Relief flooded her. “I have nothing to say to you. If you do not help me to read the riddle of yourself, Annabel, I think that very soon I shall be a candidate for the asylum. Before that came your father didn’t even know you were gone. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. " The feminine vanities in Ruth were quiescent; nothing had ever occurred in her life to tingle them into action. " "How long will you be here?" "To-morrow night.
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