‘It must seem strange to you at first. "How?" cried her brother, starting. But it's so wonderful to watch you! Whenever you have written something beautiful, your face shows it. You won’t want to be late the first evening, and it’s ten minutes past seven now. "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. Later on—well then the time may come. The poor child! What frightful things she must have seen on that island of hers! The noise of crashing glass caused a diversion; and Ruth turned gratefully toward the sound. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. A door in this house opened upon the yard.
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