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“My dear man,” she exclaimed, “wasn’t that a foregone conclusion?” “You treat the matter lightly,” he continued. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. For Ruth grew lovelier as the days went on. . You are my prisoner, murderer.
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