That there would eventually be a lover Ruth knew; and she waited his appearance upon the scene, waited with an impatience which was both personal and literary. Someone bounded up the stairs, which groaned from the strain, unmistakably Mike. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. She shook her head, almost breaking a smile.
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