It looked very patient, she thought, and a little self-satisfied. "Yes. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. Lord, but it was a nun! Just as he had suspected. “It’s the spring,” he said. She held out her arms to him and smiled. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt.
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