She began to weep in long, aching sobs. "I'm going back for Ruth. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. Only promise me to amend—to quit your vile companions—and I will forgive you—will bless you. “Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek. We are off for a second honeymoon.
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