"Good-bye!" For a moment Ruth was tempted to fling herself against the withered bosom; but long since she had learned repression. The farmer had become obsessed with her and asked her to marry. "My father!" she whispered. It is the bottom of the cup, where all the dregs appear to settle. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions.
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