To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid. It was past seven when she got back to her hotel. He sat on the bed, throwing aside his hat. “I thought you were coming right across the Park. ” She leaned back amongst the cushions of her chair. The little girl uttered no remonstrance; but, replacing the flowers in the basket, burst into tears, and withdrew. Your disobedience be upon your own head.
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