“I’m going for a long tramp, auntie,” she said. She became aware that at regular intervals a light flashed upon her face and a bodiless eye regarded her, and this, as the night wore on, became a torment. "I can't help thinking of it, Sir," answered the widow. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing.
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