" "Of course," rejoined Kneebone, a little maliciously, "but that's easily accounted for. “There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. Ruth took hers in the sea, but was careful never to go beyond her depth because of the sharks. But, you see, I’m smirched. "I'm quite at your disposal. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. I understand.
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