All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. For a time it really seemed all-sufficient to her that she should love. ‘I cannot possibly shoot a lady, you know. As pretty as its owner. Youth finds it pleasant sometimes to be melancholy. Her father’s step quickened to a trot. Like carpenter, like chips. A man came out, and walking recklessly, almost cannoned into Ennison. It was years before your time. They walked in silence. I admired your chivalry.
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