Upon my word, Anna,” she declared, with a strange little laugh, “you are a thousand times more like me as I was two months ago than I am myself. I'll cable to-night, and in a few days we'll have some news. Ruth loved him. The lady's name's engraved inside, but so small I can scarcely read it. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. There are a thousand questions I'd like to ask you, but I sha'n't ask them.
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