" Thames Darrell was, indeed, a youth of whom a person of far greater worldly consequence than the worthy carpenter might have been justly proud. "Go to lunch," he ordered Ruth. I felt—wrapped in thick cobwebs. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. She went to a writing-desk and made some memoranda on a sheet of note-paper, and then remembered that she had no address as yet to which letters could be sent. This path, bordered on each side by high privet hedges of the most beautiful green, soon brought them to a stile. ” She whispered. I don’t think any surroundings could throw a shadow on you.
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