It was a face that matched her body, so pure and beautiful that any man would have killed for her. The girl, with a little moan, crossed the room and threw open the window. CHAPTER III. “Thank you—for coming,” he said. ‘I’ll wager that militiaman never rode the animal, then. He wondered if, after all, McClintock wasn't nearest the truth, that Ruth was one of those unfortunate yet innocent women who make havoc with the hearts of men. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. Activity in the hall intensified.
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