"This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated. "What is your name?" "Ruth. You don’t understand. “You are the most perfect, the most glorious of created things—tender, frank intellectual, brave, beautiful.
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