Mr. ” His fingers touched hers for a moment under the ledge of the box. “I didn’t think you’d come. ” Chapter XII THE POSTER OF “ALCIDE” On Saturday mornings there was deposited on the plate of each guest at breakfast time, a long folded paper with Mrs. “I believe she’s dressing up-stairs—now. “Steady on!” he cried. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. Their conversation became stilted. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. ” “No, don’t say that.
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