" Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. ‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. ” “And leave you here alone?” he asked, in a hoarse whisper. I had to sell out, you see, when my father died, for the estate is in my hands. One can't help being jealous, you know, even of an unworthy object.
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