Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. Gerald tried it. '" "Slave?" echoed Jack. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. She lived, he noted, very carelessly. 'Whoso giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord;' that's my comfort. “My child, I do not wish. Even now I do not understand.
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