‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. Ah! she looks this way, and puts her finger to her lips. The ring's yours, and you're mine. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else. "Mine died while I was over here. He wondered if, after all, McClintock wasn't nearest the truth, that Ruth was one of those unfortunate yet innocent women who make havoc with the hearts of men.
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