“Gracious!” she exclaimed to herself. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. Her gratitude swelled within her. “Some afternoon. Her fingers opened and the weapon fell from her nerveless grasp. But come in, dear. ” Ennison obeyed Anna’s gesture, and was silent. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. ” “Call it what you like,” Anna answered.
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