” The man made no attempt to recover the revolver. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. When the hero finally did appear, Ruth became filled with gentle self-mockery. ” “But—” “He left her alone. Those are all nice things, but it’s not what I want.
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