The little pucker in her brows became more perceptible. If it wasn’t for the fear that after all—but we won’t think of that. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. Then he had gone away. It was a brief solitude, however. ‘Have no fear,’ he uttered soothingly, reaching out to pat her free hand.
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