“MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. One with the appearance of a bald little gnome yawned agonizingly. “I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” he said. ‘That is what she wants, is it?’ ‘Do you blame her?’ he said stiffly. Nothing anyone could say or do would change him. Perhaps that was the reason that they both remained standing. He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. ’ He turned to the goggling footman and thrust him towards the coach. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep.
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