After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. “Forgive you, indeed. Why should I?” “At last,” he murmured, “at last I have found you.
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