“Who wouldn’t be for you?” The train began to move. Hetty, who had periods of lucid expression, put the thing for her from her pillow. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. I want to but I cannot! Please accept that!” She yelled. But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned.
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