“Good,” he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks. ” He drank. " Ruth slightly brushed the withered cheek. She had agonized over it for weeks. Had he not said so? Not that she wished him to marry her. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. A day will come when you will thank me. Wood the carpenter.
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