My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. " He offered cigars, and Ruth got up. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. . “We don’t pretend. ’ He endured the inevitable scold with patience, saluted Mrs Chalkney’s faded cheek, and went off to endure the necessary delay with what patience he could muster. Wanting his coat, when he must have known that the pockets were empty! But the effort to talk had cost him something.
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