His eyes were fixed upon her face, but he opened his lips twice before he spoke. They had not proceeded far when a low moan was heard. But all normal humans smelled wonderful to her, even dirty ones. A strange betrothal!—the primal idea of which was escape! The girl, intent upon abrogating for ever all legal rights of the father in the daughter, of rendering innocuous the thing she had now named the Terror: the boy, seeking selfcrucifixion in expiation of his transgression, changing a peccadillo into damnation! It was easy for Ruth to surrender to the idea, for she believed she was loved; and in gratitude it was already her determination to give this boy her heart's blood, drop by drop, if he wanted it. “And this is Mr. CHAPTER XII. You are your own Heaven and your own Hell, Lucy. . “You, too,” he said abruptly. "My coat!" Ruth did not move but stared astonishedly at the patient. ‘There is little I can do at present.
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