He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. And now, a fair exchange, Sir. The Night-Cellar. There are way-stations—even terminals. "I would not venture to renew my suit while Thames lived, because I well knew your affections were fixed upon him. " "That is to say, you wish you had let me die?" "That was the thought. She loves you too well for that. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee.
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