He reached over and took her hand. She seemed honestly glad to see him. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie. Sheppard remained dissolved in tears. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me.
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