As if he read her thought, he spoke it aloud. The asylum was approached by a broad gravel walk, leading through a garden edged on either side by a stone balustrade, and shaded by tufted trees. “You are not boring me,” she said, “but I would rather talk of something else. "Ruth!" She had gone to the door, aimlessly, without purpose. ” He faced her doggedly. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. She had never had a real doll. "Your hesitation convinces me he does," replied the widow. . 9. .
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