At luncheon, on the third day, a thick-set man with a blue jaw smiled across his table at her. Even if you pretend sometimes to be without sense. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. As to Mr. He had said so. Wood became sensible that he was not alone.
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