“Why, what is the matter with you? What do you mean?” Annabel laughed scornfully. There was no way of recalling the words; so she waited. "Constance—or, rather, Mrs. ” She replied, smiling awkwardly. These daughters! He gnawed his pen and reflected, tore the sheet up, and began again. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do. I consented. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little.
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