The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated. She responded as he slipped his hands under her sweater. Go to her, I say, and take her in your arms, you poor benighted Ironsides! I can't make you see. Treading with noiseless step over the soft mould, they soon reached the building. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do.
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