Her moods were many and always striking. She tossed her head, and, having no further words, moved toward the door. That was the glorious if bewildering truth. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. So, adroitly and patiently, he pulled Ruth apart; that is, he plucked forth a little secret here, another there, until he had quite a substantial array. “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying.
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