" "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. "My little Hoddy! You used to love me; and I have always loved you. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. It was perfectly legitimate. "I ought to tell you that Mr. "Something's wrong.
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