The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. “Nothing has happened to Mr. With his chisel so fine, tra la! "There!" cried the boy, leaping from the stool, and drawing back a few paces on the bench to examine his performance,—"that'll do. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. After all, why need one look down. It appeared he had already ordered dinner and wine, and the whiskered waiter waved in his subordinate with the soup forthwith. Why had Ruth married him? A penniless outcast, for she must have known he was that. " Ruth turned back toward the stairs. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. "What has happened?" Ruth asked. Don’t you think? Tum, tay, tum, tay.
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