She still kicked herself for it. To be sure, Ruth had dimly been aware of this; but now for the first time she was made painfully conscious of it. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. “Our interest lies in heading them off. You heard her. He tried this sentence with expletives. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse.
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