" "Egad, Jack," said Gay, "you should write your adventures. He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. The wedding procession passed on, and the cynical rabble poured in behind. At length, about three o'clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains at the outer door told that some one was admitted. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. . You think everything is harmless and simple, and so forth.
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