And he, her lawful husband, dared not go to her and console her! Accursed—all of them— Enschede, Ruth, and himself. And put ‘em in little books for remembrance. She hesitated. "No, I shan't," replied Rachel, saucily. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. I’m not such a bad sort.
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