She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. "But, let me tell you, it's not a pleasant sight to see the girl one likes in the arms of another. “In a sort of beautiful garden-close—wearing lovely dresses and picking beautiful flowers?” “Ah! If one could!” “While those other girls trudge to business and those other women let lodgings. He could not make good his hold.
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