It might be that the boy had taken one drink too many, or someone had given him knock-out drops. I’ve loved her for two years, I love her now. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. But perhaps you don't know; there was nothing in the pockets. " "Never mind," returned the stranger, dismounting; "you'll recollect me by and by, I've no doubt. I didn’t dream, not even in my wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me. It’s well hidden, miss.
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