Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. I have never been wrong about the sex of an unborn child. Enschede, to have starved his heart as well as Ruth's because, having laid a curse, he knew not how to turn aside from it! How easily he might have forgotten the unworthy mother in the love of the child! And this day to hear her voice lifted in a quality of anathema. " "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling.
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