Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. gutenberg. Give me your hand. "Stop thief!" clamoured the rabble behind. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. What his head conceived his hand executed. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands. No, no! Not now!" Ruth turned abruptly and walked toward the bungalow, mounted the veranda steps, and vanished within. All that confidence, born of irony, disappeared; and fear laid hold of him. "But to drag this innocent child into the muck! With her head full of book nonsense—love stories and fairy stories! Have you any idea of the tragedy she is bound to stumble upon some day? I don't care about you.
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