Here we go, thought Gerald. It is so difficult. How little he knew about Ruth—the background from which she had sprung! He knew that her father was a missioner, that her mother was dead, that she had been born on this island, and that, at the time of his collapse, she had been on the way to an aunt in the States. He dissected rather awkwardly and hurriedly, but, on the whole, effectively, and drew with an impatient directness that made up in significance what it lacked in precision. All her protests seemed stifled before she could find words to utter them. She entered and approached the bunk. Lucia dismissed the rumors, as it was not likely an archbishop would renege on his duties to become her personal doctor. I can't give you my hand; but you may take it.
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