’ He glanced at the portrait behind her. The third item she took with a trembling hand by its waistbelt. "That's it!" cried Wild when Trenchard concluded. Earles protested, seating himself before the desk, and dipping his pen in the ink. "What's become of Ruth?" "Gone to her room. “I’ll try to stop by. I ——” He stopped short. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. But underneath this tolerance there is always the vague hope that your manhood will someday reassert itself. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. But for all that, it offered relief; his brain, stupefied by the fumes, grew dull, and conscience lost its edge to bite. “You poor little girl!” he cried.
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