She turned her eyes to him again, and saw her late friend and pleasant and trusted companion, who had seen fit suddenly to change into a lover, babbling interesting inacceptable things. 127 “But Mary Lucia, it isn’t what it looks like! She’s an old friend, there’s nothing serious going on!” Without a word, she about-faced and flew down his steps, running fast, jumping four steps at a time. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth.
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