The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. "What ho!" he cried slapping Smith, who had fallen asleep with the brandybottle in his grasp, upon the shoulder. I trust that she will not misunderstand me. . And he could not return this love. "As long as I live, I'll never forget that dress of hers," Prudence declared.
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