One Friday afternoon, in this pleasant month, it chanced that Mr. Ruth did not reply, but stared past the doctor, her eyes misty. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. I know now what it is to be an abandoned female. She would never return to her father; that resolution was final. See how he gets on, father," he added, appealing to Wood: "the box seems to grow under his hands.
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