She crushed the letter in her hand. “Do you play an instrument?” “I play the fiddle sometimes. To take Spring and Love out of her life, as if there were no human instincts to tell Ruth what was being denied her! And what must have been the man's thought as he came upon Ruth wearing a gown of her mother's? —a fair picture of the mother in the primrose days? Not a flicker of an eyelash; steel and granite outwardly. "And Jack?" "Gone too," sobbed his daughter.
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