“I didn’t understand, Vee. “I suppose you know I like you tremendously?” he pursued. Wood, at the top of her voice. She responded at once, rapping him on the knuckles with her fan. It was the first—and the last! At this juncture, the handle of the door was tried, and the voice of Mr. A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars. Her wings were oddly weak, but for all that she could fly. He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. I can't give you my hand; but you may take it.
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