A moment afterwards, the door was closed and bolted, and the carpenter found himself alone. “And yet you still live, Butterfly. “It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. To take Spring and Love out of her life, as if there were no human instincts to tell Ruth what was being denied her! And what must have been the man's thought as he came upon Ruth wearing a gown of her mother's? —a fair picture of the mother in the primrose days? Not a flicker of an eyelash; steel and granite outwardly. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. The new and the old cancelled out; his daughters became quasi-independent dependents—which is absurd. The two great hotels on their right were still ablaze with lights.
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